


Playing House

by Lemurafraidofthunder



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Living Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 04:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2455070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemurafraidofthunder/pseuds/Lemurafraidofthunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac gets the brilliant idea (if you ask him) that all of Les Amis should live in the same house. No reason that this is going to cause mayhem, except of course for the fact that Enjolras and Grantaire end up in rooms too close together with a shared bathroom, forced to somehow tolerate each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing House

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely [piece of art](http://albatchy.tumblr.com/post/100097914084/lesmisbigbang) illustrating what I like to call the bathroom scene is made by the even lovelier [Albatchy](albatchy.tumblr.com)

"So I know everybody has heard about the little 'incident' by now," Courfeyrac says at a Les Amis meeting, that isn't much of a real meeting as it is a crisis gathering. It's an extraordinary meeting that Courfeyrac called because he, according to the mass text he sent, had the greatest idea ever in the history of greatness. Grantaire is a little bit curious as to what the great idea is, but it seems he will have to go through the retelling of the now infamous incident to get to the idea.    
  
"We got kicked out, Courf, there's not much more to it!" Enjolras grumbles next to Courfeyrac who just smiles and shakes his head.  
  
"No, Enjolras, how can you say such a thing? There's a great story preceding that fact. Starring you and the landlord in conflict over whether or not it is allowed to stage protests on the premise of the apartment building,” Courfeyrac proclaims with a bright smile. “A great story in my humble opinion."  
  
"Your opinion doesn't count in this," Enjolras mutters but doesn't say anything else. His expression is just shy of anger and Grantaire is very entertained by this.  
  
"But since you all know that story, I won't delve into it, however much I want to," Courfeyrac continues, "although you can read it on my blog if you so wish."  
  
Nobody says anything because they're all weighing the entertainment of reading the story in Courfeyrac's words against the fury of Enjolras if he finds out they're reading it.  
  
"But I digress," Courfeyrac says, "because it is not because of that I have called you in today."  
  
Beside him Combeferre shakes his head silently with a small smile. Courfeyrac has too much sense of drama for his own good.  
  
"What is it then? What is your great idea?" Grantaire asks because Courfeyrac can keep beating around the bush if he's not prompted.  
  
“We need a new place to stay, since we have to be out by the end of the week, and while Combeferre’s effort in systematically scour the apartment market is commendable, I think I have a both easier and better solution.”  
  
Courfeyrac pauses because that’s the kind of drama queen he is and everyone is somewhere on the scale between sitting on the edge of their seat to actually yawning. Grantaire is responsible for the yawning (he should probably try to get more sleep) and Enjolras has cooled down enough to share a bemused look with Combeferre. So Courfeyrac hasn’t let the two in on the idea yet. On the far end of the spectrum Marius manages to look both exited and confused and as if he’s about to fall off his chair.  
  
“So there’s this house that my family owns and they don’t want to sell it, house prices down and all that, but they can’t really be bothered with two houses,” Courfeyrac says as if that’s going to clear up anything.  
  
“Wait,” Grantaire interrupts because, hey, there’s something he didn’t know about Courfeyrac, “are you really saying that your family owns a house that they don’t live in? As in more than one residence, as in we are too filthily rich to bother with that?”  
  
“Well yeah, I’m not proud of it, but-“ Courfeyrac replies with a shrug. His dramatic tendencies drop as quickly as they come when he actually wants to be serious.  
  
“Did anyone else know that his family is rich?” Grantaire asks and looks around at the others because, he really had no idea. As he expects, Combeferre and Enjolras nods slowly—they are the ones who knows Courfeyrac the best, the holy trinity and all—but when his gaze passes everyone else he sees Jehan shrugging with a small smile and the others nodding as well. Even Marius doesn’t look surprised and he’s really a clueless puppy.  
  
“I just didn’t think- I don’t know why…” Grantaire says a little bewildered.  
  
“Just because he doesn’t distance himself so drastically from it as Enjolras does, ” Combeferre offers which earns him a glare from Enjolras. Which in turn makes Grantaire grin.  
  
“Yeah, I guess so,” he says and in return gets a bit of the stare too, “no wrong in taking advantage of it I suppose.”  
  
“It’s not taking that much advantage,” Courfeyrac says, “but please let me get to the point. I figured that this would be an opportunity for all of us to make new living arrangements.”  
  
“Are you hinting at what I think you’re hinting at?” Grantaire asks because there seems to be only one logical conclusion what Courfeyrac has been leading to.  
  
“Yes I’m hinting at exactly what you think,” Courfeyrac says with a brilliant smile, “that is, if you think I’m suggesting that we all move into one big house and live happily ever after.”  
  
“I don’t know about the happily ever after…” Grantaire mumbles.  
  
“Okay maybe it’s a bit premature to put that much pressure on it but you know what I mean,” Courfeyrac replies.  
  
“How… plausible is this?” Combeferre asks because someone has to check that this isn’t just some ungrounded fancy.  
  
“Well, there are all the practical things of living in and taking care of a house, but it’s newly renovated and shouldn’t give problems as such. There’ll of course be costs but if we’re many they should be much less than a regular rent.” Courfeyrac looks around the group for reactions.  
  
“Does it have a garden?” Jehan asks with absentminded contemplation after a moment of silence. Grantaire knows for a fact that xe’s currently using every possible surface in xyr flat for more potted plants than imaginable.  
  
“It has half an acre of green area–“ Courfeyrac says and smiles when Jehan lets out a delighted squeal.  
  
“That’s _wonderful_ … I’m in,” xe sighs and get a distant look in xyr eyes as xe probably starts planning a whole park full of plants.  
  
“Yeah sorry Courf, but you probably already know we can’t move into your dream house,” Bossuet says next, “not since we just bought an apartment.”  
  
“And are living very happily ever after with ‘chetta,” Joly chuckles.  
  
“I didn’t expect you to, though our house will be ever the slightest bit duller without you to lighten it up,” Courfeyrac says with a grin.  
  
“I could honestly use the lower rent,” Feuilly says and shrugs, “and how could this go wrong?”  
  
“Oh, it’ll be chaos alright, but you can count me in too,” Bahorel laughs and bumps his shoulder against Feuilly’s. Courfeyrac is looking more and more eager. He turns to Marius who did not in fact end up falling off his chair.  
  
“I think it sounds kind of fun,” Marius says, “so yeah, me too.”  
  
“And Grantaire, there’s the perfect place for you,” Courfeyrac exclaims, “it’s the attic and not officially a bedroom but it has skylights and I’m told that the light there is really nice.” Grantaire turns it over and compares Courfeyrac’s description to his current apartment which is honestly shit and not made for either living or painting.  
  
“I suppose it can’t be that bad, as long as I can paint there,” Grantaire says and that leaves only Courfeyrac’s two roommates to okay it.  
  
“Well I can’t think of anything better right now,” Combeferre says looking from Courfeyrac to Enjolras, “and we do need it about right now.”  
  
“We’re really doing this?” Enjolras sighs and shakes his head but can’t help but smile a little at the whoop Courfeyrac does.  
  
“It’s gonna be perfect!” Courfeyrac exclaims and immediately starts talking about the house and how everyone will love it. Grantaire listens with half an ear while letting his gaze rest on Enjolras who’s getting involved with a passion now that it’s a reality. Maybe perfect isn’t the the word for living in the same house as Enjolras, but it’s certainly going to be interesting.

* * *

They move in throughout the week, trickling into the house slowly. Courfeyrac is the first one in, closely followed by Grantaire, whose rent has ended the quickest apart from the triumvirate. It takes far more than one drive in Bahorel’s rattling car to move all of Grantaire belongings but mostly because all of his painting equipment and his art takes up so much space in the car. When he arrives with the last shipment on a Saturday afternoon, consisting solely of canvases ranging from new and unused to works in progress to finished paintings, and finishes storing in the attic that is truly perfect for him, he strolls around the grand house, just looking.  
  
“I’m pretty sure I’ve never even been in a house of this size before, not one that’s supposed to be for private use,” he remarks when he runs into Courfeyrac who is lounging in the—get this—lounge. The brown curls bounce when Courfeyrac laughs at him.  
  
“Well it has to be big to be able to contain nearly all of the Amis,” Courfeyrac says and gestures to a armchair opposite to the one he’s sitting in. Grantaire doesn’t so much sit down as he flings himself at the soft chair. The place was even already furnished in all shared rooms and luxuriously so. Grantaire isn’t complaining, he’s only afraid he might make horrible paint stains on the hardwood floors.  
  
“That’s true,” Grantaire says and he’s just about to ask Courfeyrac how long he thinks it’ll take a group of young men to wreck the house, when he’s interrupted before he has even started by the tones of La Marseillaise coming from Courfeyrac’s pocket.  
  
“It’s Enjolras,” he grins apologetically and Grantaire knows that because Courfeyrac has got personalized ringtones for every contact in his phone. Every time Enjolras scowls at him for having chosen the French national anthem for his ringtone, Courfeyrac excuses it with the fact that it’s the only piece of music that reminds him of Enjolras. Courfeyrac pulls the phone out of his pocket and answers it.  
  
“Courf, master of the house, here,” he says with a grin and then grimaces when Enjolras apparently says something.  
  
“Yeah, alright I know we live in a modern democracy and master’s an outdated term,” he replies into the phone while rolling his eyes to Grantaire with a huge grin on his face. Grantaire just leans back into the chair.  
  
“Sure you can come now, I’m here and doing nothing with Grantaire… No that’s not a problem, I’m sure,” Courfeyrac says and then to Grantaire, “are you doing anything right now or like, planning to?”  
  
“Nah, I don’t have anything to do,” Grantaire shrugs.  
  
“Then do you mind helping Enjolras moving his stuff over here? Poor guy has to do it all by himself otherwise,” Courfeyrac asks and puts on the sweetest smile he can possibly muster.  
  
“I’m pretty sure that ‘poor guy’ is never a fitting descriptor of Enjolras,” Grantaire remarks, “but I guess he’s not that well fitted for moving all his heavy books alone. Sure, I’ll help out Apollo when his godliness is not enough.” He raises his voice at the last part to make sure it can be heard through the phone. Courfeyrac looks at him with something between exasperation and amusement, because he knows that this will get a rise from Enjolras and that it was Grantaire’s very specific intention to do so. He puts the phone to the ear again and obviously interrupts a rant from Enjolras.  
  
“Yeah, I know, but seriously it’s just a name. Yes, alright I’ll tell him. Good. I’ll see you.” With that Courfeyrac hangs up and throws the phone on the coffee table with nonchalance before he leans back into the chair and looks at Grantaire with mock seriousness.  
  
“I’ve been told to tell you to—and I quote directly here—desist from using that idiotic appellation,” Courfeyrac says and it would have seemed more sincere if he hadn’t such a problem with keeping a straight face. Grantaire just shrugs and grins. That’s exactly the reaction he goes for every time, the only real reaction he ever gets from Enjolras. Riling up Enjolras is always a sure way to get his attention.  
  
“Where is Enjolras' room anyway?” Grantaire asks because he still hasn’t figured this house out and they are quite a few to keep track of even if they haven’t all moved in yet.  
  
“Oh, it’s just beneath your loft,” Courfeyrac replies, “you’ll share a bathroom, because well, there isn’t really one up there with you.” At this Grantaire stiffens in his chair.  
  
“You put me closest to Enjolras?” he asks, his voice a little thin now.  
  
“Yeah, I mean he and Combeferre did fight over that room since it’s got the best layout for a study with bookshelves lining two walls,” Courfeyrac says with an easy smile until he looks at Grantaire. He sits upright with concern in his eyes.  
  
“Is that not alright?” he asks because Grantaire is probably looking a little bit nervous.  
  
The thing is that he’s known Enjolras for years now, ever since Grantaire got lured to a Les Amis meeting by Joly and Bossuet in senior year of college, and they’ve gone from the initial arguing-over-every-single-philosophical-and-political-subject-in-human-history-phase and the later arguing-over-every-other-subject-phase to a slowly building acquaintanceship that isn’t really friendship. Sure they can stand being in a room together, even if they’re accidentally alone after a meeting or another social gathering, but they rarely do anything but attempt smalltalk which usually fails and results in an argument or silence. They aren’t friends and the idea of sharing space like a bathroom with Enjolras is only made slightly worse by the fact that Grantaire has been in love with the man ever since he laid eyes on him the first time. Which he’s pretty sure Courfeyrac knows, no strike that, he knows Courfeyrac knows, so why would he not have thought about it when rooms were distributed?  
  
“Oh,” Courfeyrac says then as if he has read Grantaire’s mind. Maybe he just remembered why it would be a problem for Grantaire to share space with Enjolras.  
  
“Yeah, but I mean it’s not that big of a deal,” Grantaire shrugs and tells himself that he can live with it, “we wouldn’t want to rob Enjolras of the room with the best bookshelves and I as hell aren’t giving up on the attic. Have you seen the lighting up there?”  
  
“I don’t know a single thing about lighting, R, you know that, but if you’re sure that it’s not–” Courfeyrac says with an apologetic smile. Grantaire stops him with a gesture of his hand.  
  
“No really, it’s alright. I’ll live, he’ll live I’m sure, and we’ll make it work, I’m sure,” Grantaire assures Courfeyrac with a streak of optimism he didn’t know he had.  
  
“Or make the house unbearably loud by fighting all the time,” Courfeyrac jokes.  
  
“Or that,” Grantaire agrees.

* * *

“I’ll come by in a short while. See you then.”  
  
Enjolras hangs up the phone and picks up the moving box he had set down previously when he had taken a look at all the stuff in his apartment and had admitted defeat. He had realized that he wouldn’t be able to do this on his own unless he wanted to spend all day and possibly the next on it. Then he had called Courfeyrac for help and apparently Grantaire had been there too, already moved in. He doesn’t exactly know what to do with that information and his thoughts whirl around it as he walks down the stairs of his apartment building with the box. Usually Grantaire isn’t the first to do anything except finding the bottle but he is now. Maybe his lease was up just a little too soon and it was the only option. Or is it possible that Enjolras just doesn’t give him enough credit to think that he might just have been the quickest and most efficient of them? Enjolras can’t seem to find out which it is when he open his car and squeezes the last possible box in. He looks back at the building and is relieved that he has managed to avoid the rather angry landlord so far. They’re not exactly on good terms after the incident.  
  
 Somehow in doubt of whether it’s safe to drive with his orientation so limited by cardboard boxes he goes to the driver’s seat. He glances back at the boxes and sighs. This is only about a quarter of all his stuff and it took him a good time just to get them loaded into the car. And they’re the lightest ones at that. An extra pair of helping hands isn’t going to be bad even if it is going to be those paint-stained ones with long slender fingers.  
  
He finds way to the house with the help of the GPS on his smartphone and parks in the driveway in front of the garage that has space for two cars side by side. By the time he gets out of the car and is on his way to the front door it springs open and out bounds a cheerful Courfeyrac with a little more calm Grantaire on his heel.  
  
“The moving help is ready for you,” Courfeyrac exclaims and really why is he so jubilant about moving? Most other people would have to be bribed into as much as consider helping with carrying somebody else’s furniture and boxes of items.  
  
“Look Courf, he could even load the car himself as a start,” Grantaire says as they near the car, “I’m impressed.”  
  
Enjolras just sends him a glare and opens the trunk.  
  
“I’m thinking that it’s most efficient if we unload the car first and then one of you carry these boxes to my room while the other and I drive back for another load,” Enjolras says as he pulls out a box and sets it on the ground next to the car.  
  
“That sounds sensible,” Courfeyrac says and somehow he’s able to also be somewhat serious in the midst of his glee. He picks up a box himself and they go to work.  
  
Between the three of them the trunk is emptied in no time and stacked more or less neatly to the side. All of the boxes Enjolras moved are at least stacked neatly, while both Courfeyrac and Grantaire has been a little more laissez-faire with straight lines and such.  
  
“So I guess one of you is coming with–” Enjolras starts after closing the trunk of the car.  
  
“I’ll stay here and move these ones,” Grantaire interrupts and jumps back and gestures at the boxes. Enjolras frowns slightly.  
  
“Alright…” He says slowly, “do you know where to bring them or do you need showing?”  
  
“Oh no, I don’t need that,” Grantaire says and smiles …awkwardly? “I know where your room is.”  
  
With that he picks up two boxes and makes his way hastily up the path to the house. Enjolras is left at the car with Courfeyrac whom he looks over at with confusion. When they get in the car and Enjolras pulls out of the driveway he asks, “Just what was that about?”  
  
“What was about what?” Courfeyrac asks, distracted by trying to tune in on some radio station.  
  
“That thing with Grantaire just now,” Enjolras says, “he was acting a bit strange, wasn’t he?”  
  
“Oh, that,” Courfeyrac says and straightens in his seat, “there’s something I maybe should tell you.”  
  
Enjolras looks away from the road to glance at Courfeyrac with a raised eyebrow. Courfeyrac just shifts in the seat instead of continuing.  
  
“And what is that?” Enjolras presses.  
  
“Grantaire knows where your room is because… well, his is the closest to it,” Courfeyrac says hesitantly.  
  
“What do you mean his room is the closest? There’s no room adjacent to mine, that’s partly why I liked it so much,” Enjolras says.  
  
“It’s not adjacent no, but you know the stairs that lead up to yours continue further up, right?” Courfeyrac asks and continues at Enjolras' nod, “it leads up the the attic that is Grantaire’s room.”  
  
“So we’re going to be living that close to each other,” Enjolras says and stares straight ahead at the road, “that’s great.”  
  
“You also share a bathroom with him.”  
  
Enjolras grips a little harder on the steering wheel.  
  
“I do?” he says not so much a question as a repetition to himself. To get it into his head that he will be living close quarters to Grantaire and share a place that is usually a pretty private place with him. He had not thought this as a possible outcome of living situations when Courfeyrac originally had presented his idea. He’s just gonna make it work, he supposes. Then he thinks of something else.  
  
“What does Grantaire say about… this?” Enjolras asks because as much as he himself does not regard their relationship as very close, Grantaire has always seemed to have something unspoken reason for his distance. They barely even communicate outside of their arguments in meetings. This has got to solicit some response from Grantaire too, and Enjolras can almost hear him say something dripping with sarcasm about having to deal with grumpy _Apollo_ in the morning.  
  
“Oh he–“ Courfeyrac starts and then pauses, “–he took it well.”  
  
There’s something off in Courfeyrac’s voice, Enjolras can tell because he’s known Courfeyrac for years, but he can’t exactly tell what. Enjolras glances to his right but Courfeyrac has shrugged off that strangeness and smiles at him effortlessly again.  
  
“Anyway, you two grumpies aren’t going to be alone in the house, so you can quit worrying about that.”  
  
“I’m not grumpy.”  
  
“In the morning? Yeah you are,” Courfeyrac laughs as if it’s something very funny.  
  
“I am not,” Enjolras insists keeping his eyes on the road.  
  
“Well, you wouldn’t know as you aren’t even conscious before the third cup of coffee, but trust me I know.”  
  
They manage to transport all of Enjolras’ belongings to the house with a couple of trips back and forth, one rather intense meet with the landlord and only a minor disagreement between Enjolras and Grantaire over the sustainability of having as many paper books as Enjolras.  
  
So all in all, it can be called a success and Courfeyrac does so with surprise in his voice.

* * *

It’s amazing how you can live up and down each other and still avoid exchanging even three words. Grantaire and Enjolras manages this with scary efficiency for at least three weeks. They acknowledge each other at meals where everyone is present, but they barely see each other apart from that. The only thing making this possible is that they keep drastically different schedules. Enjolras with his regular day job is up before seven and out the door before Grantaire even thinks about getting out of bed. Usually awake well into the night, Grantaire doesn’t function properly before noon and thanks every conceivable god for the fact that he’s a freelancing artist with freedom to choose his hours. Enjolras then goes to bed much earlier than Grantaire and in that way they never need to meet in the staircase or worse, the bathroom.  
  
Except that changes three weeks into the whole house project when Grantaire wakes to the blaring sound of his alarm and sees it display the horrible number 6:25. For a moment he’s sure it must be pm because why would he ever in the world set his alarm to a time before the night is over? But then it hits him like a brick; he has a meeting with a client. Someone with a packed schedule whose assistant (they have an assistant for god’s sake!) could only fit him in this early morning and it’s only because the painting job sounds interesting (and the pay will probably be good) that Grantaire forces himself through the hell that is an early morning.  
  
Still rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he pads downstairs on the carpeted soft steps. The place really is nice but he doesn’t have much mind to appreciate it right now as he pushes a hand on the bathroom door. It slides open with ease and and maybe the steamy air that hits his face should warn him but Grantaire is too tired notice anything or think about anything but a nice long, scalding hot shower. His dreaming stops abruptly when he steps into the room.  
  
There, in front of him stands Enjolras, stark naked, in the process of drying his hair with a towel that looks even softer than those golden locks. Grantaire stands mesmerized for a moment and can do nothing but follow the way the muscles of Enjolras' back work when he pushes the towel through his hair.  
  
Then, the realization that he is in fact intruding on a very naked Enjolras hits him and before he thinks, he makes a strangled sound, flees out of the room and slams the door shut. When he’s breathing hard with his back against the outside of the door it occurs to him that Enjolras surely is alerted of the fact that someone just barged in and saw him naked. And he can surely guess that that someone is Grantaire. So he should probably get out of the way and bury himself forever now he’s at it. It would definitely be best for everyone that way.

                                                               

  
Grantaire sprints all the way to his room and then collapses on the bed he didn’t want to leave just a few minutes ago. The image he just saw is etched into his mind and only squeezing his eyes tightly shut and concentrating hard keeps him from doing and thinking things that are pretty indecent.  
  
His concentration is broken by a knock on the door. Grantaire groans quietly and turns around to bury his face in his pillow. He’s pretty sure as to who’s standing outside his door and he’s not interested in the humiliation of that conversation just now. When he doesn’t answer, a voice outside speaks tentatively.  
  
“Uhm… The bathroom’s free if you wanted to use it.”  
  
Great, Grantaire think, simply just great. Enjolras couldn’t just pretend nothing happened and gone on his way. No, he had to come the extra way to Grantaire’s loft and make it even more awkward. Maybe it’s just easier if he doesn’t react and waits for Enjolras to tire and go away. So he says nothing, just digs his face even further down into the poor pillow and hopes. His wishes aren’t granted. Are they ever?  
  
“Grantaire?” Enjolras asks because he evidently wants awkward. That man wouldn’t notice awkward if it hit him in the face, Grantaire guesses as he pulls himself up and trudges to the door. When he opens the door he sees the second sight today that has him questioning his own mental morals. Enjolras is outside on the small landing in front of his door in nothing but a towels slung around his hips. Awkward conversation made even more awkward as Grantaire has to fight the urges to let his eyes rake over a well toned torso he really shouldn’t be looking at. He can’t exactly meet Enjolras' eyes either so he settles on his chin instead. That seems relatively safe.  
  
“You’re awake early,” Enjolras says with a somewhat lame statement of the obvious. Somehow he suddenly looks like he doesn’t know what to say. A sigh heaves through Enjolras' chest.  
  
Grantaire stares at his chin and forces out a short, bordering on curt “Yeah.”  
  
The questioning but open expression on Enjolras' face shuts a bit down at this but Grantaire doesn’t know what to do. He can barely keep his eyes to himself; he can’t possibly do a normal conversation with Enjolras when he’s dressed like this. Or rather, not dressed.  
  
“It’s just, you’re not usually up when I am,” Enjolras continues and Grantaire wants to ask him why he tries so hard to make conversation when he was obviously interrupted and is probably already on the way to being late for something important. In fact, Grantaire is gonna be late if this keeps on, he realizes with a glance at the clock on his wall behind him. He only planned for a hot shower and a bite of breakfast so he could wake up as late as possible. And now this whole underdressed Apollo incident has put him back and even if he wants a quick shower, he has to get going. He clears his throat and finally meets Enjolras' eyes.  
  
“Um, sorry but I kinda have to hurry,” he says as quickly as he can, “I have this meeting with some big corporal dude who maybe wants me to decorate the office or something.”  
  
“Wow, that’s really cool Grantaire,” Enjolras says and his face brightens in a smile that leaves Grantaire a little shellshocked. Since when has Enjolras been interested in his artistic career? He surely wouldn’t be if he saw the numerous portraits Grantaire has done of him in trying to capture that beauty, but thank god no one ever sees those. It would be even more mortifying than standing here knowing that Enjolras knows that it was Grantaire who stumbled in on him naked.  
  
“Well good luck then,” Enjolras says still with that easy smile, “the bathroom’s free now.”  
  
He turns and walks down the stairs with a hand on the towel on the side of his hip. If Grantaire didn’t know better, that last remark was followed by a smirk.  
  
Grantaire waits until he can’t see Enjolras on the stairs anymore—and maybe he is following the retreating figure intently with his eyes—and then counts slowly to twenty before he jolts down to take the quickest shower possible and simultaneously drive both the mental image of Enjolras naked and that of him in nothing but at towel, from his mind.  
  
The shower part goes well enough and he’s out of the door on time, but as he swerves around the morning traffic on his motorcycle he can’t seem to stop replaying the morning in his head and the film does hollywood trick around the sights of Enjolras' body. It plays in slow-motion and zooms in on details like a water droplet traveling down toned muscles; a detail Grantaire definitely didn’t have time or brain activity to notice in the moment but he has all the imagination to imagine now. He groans loudly as no one’s there to hear him. This living with Enjolras is probably going to be harder than he thought.

* * *

A week later the shrill ring of the telephone cuts through the empty house and reaches Grantaire even all the way up in the attic. It takes a moment for him to actually register the fact that there is a sound barging in on his eardrums through the earphones because he was pretty deep in the zone while doing a commission. With a sigh—good sessions are always the ones that are the most interrupted, right?—Grantaire stands back from the mostly paint-covered canvas stretching a meter and a half by width and wipes his paint-stained hands on a piece of cloth.  
  
When it’s evident that the person who is calling won’t stop, he starts jogging down the several staircases from his room to the kitchen where they have the only landline in the house. They all have cellphones of course, they’re grown men, but they all agreed that it wouldn’t hurt to have a landline when it’s in the subscription they have for TV and internet. No one really calls that number though, so Grantaire is still rummaging his mind for whoever it might be when he finally picks up the phone with a simple “Hello”.  
  
He’s quite surprised at hearing the voice he does.  
  
“Grantaire?” Enjolras says from the other end and the surprise is clear in his voice, but mixed with it is a hint of disappointment that he doesn’t try to hide or if he does then fails at it.  
  
“Yeah that’s my name,” Grantaire sighs because he’s not really in the mood to be disappointing Enjolras without having done anything but pick up a phone.  
  
“Uhm...” The hesitant noise Enjolras makes reaches him and his curiosity spikes. The great Apollo is never hesitant and never with Grantaire.  
  
“What’s up Enjo?” He asks and keeps the not-so-welcome nickname Apollo out of it.  
  
“Nobody else is home, are they?” he asks and Grantaire shakes his head before realizing that it would be hard to hear.  
  
“Nope, they’re all gone for that thing, that, you know, they went to...” He trails off when he doesn’t remember what exactly everybody else is doing. There was some kind of event he’s sure, but he can’t remember. He would probably be at it but the piece he’s working on is due in too short of a time for him to take an evening off. He works best in the evening.  
  
“The poetry reading,” Enjolras says because of course he remembers.  
  
“Of course, Jehan’s poems, you know I would feel bad for ditching tonight if it wasn’t for the fact that I have heard them all way too many times. Joke aside, the kid’s real talented and-“ Grantaire rambles into the phone but is cut off by Enjolras.  
  
“Look, R, it’s not like I don’t want to hear you talk about poetry all night long,” he interrupts and Grantaire raises an eyebrow because – sarcasm, “but erm… I think I need your help.” There is a distress in Enjolras' voice that makes Grantaire straighten up and listen a little more intently.  
  
“What’s up? Has something happened?"  
  
"You could say that," Enjolras sighs, "I was out to dinner with my parents when they suddenly got all worked up over that last protest I started. And then they kind of kicked me out – of the restaurant."  
  
"They did what?" Grantaire doesn't know whether to laugh hysterically or be really concerned on Enjolras' behalf.  
  
"Well they do that every other month, but it's the first time they've done it publicly," Enjolras replies.  
  
"That sucks," Grantaire remarks, because he knows about shitty parents.  
  
"Yes, but the reason I called yo– the house is that my parents picked me up from home and I forgot to bring my wallet…" Enjolras' voice falters without a definite conclusion and a question mark, but Grantaire doesn't need one.  
  
"So you need a ride," he says, a statement, not a question.  
  
"Yes that would be really great," Enjolras says and the relief is clear and then he adds, "if it's not a problem for you of course?"  
  
Grantaire sighs but makes sure it's silent. It is a little bit of a problem for him actually, because there was a reason that he didn't go with the others to the poetry reading. He has to work on his commission. But he can't just let Enjolras hang.  
  
"No it isn't, don't worry. I'll come get you if you just give me the address," he says after taking a deep breath. Enjolras tells him where he is and Grantaire hangs up with the promise of being there in twenty minutes or so. When he goes out to the garage where his motorcycle has its place beside Enjolras' and Bahorel's cars, he picks up an extra helmet that he has lying around for instances like this. Typical of Enjolras to be so insistent on not using more fuel than necessary and letting his parents pick him up instead of driving himself.  
  
Grantaire checks the bike for gas and puts on his helmet before pressing the button to open the garage door. The air that hits him is warm despite of the fact that it's dark outside and it's just after ten o'clock. The sound and feel of the motor underneath him is comforting in a way that only painting and doing his sports otherwise is to him and he zooms easily through the city to the place where Enjolras is.  
  
He's getting to a pretty fancy part of town when he spots the figure in the red coat that should be far too hot for this season. He pulls over and tries not to revel too much in how good Enjolras looks in the too hot coat while he parks the bike and jumps off. He likes to think he can at least do that gracefully but when he catches Enjolras gaze it's only filled something that surely can't be fear.  
  
"I forgot you rode that," Enjolras says his voice weak in a way Grantaire has never dreamt of hearing it. He covers up the surprise with a dispassionate shrug.  
  
"It's the only ride I have. I never took a driver's license for a car," he says and if his smile is a little bit sardonic it isn't entirely unintentional.  
  
"Oh, well..." Enjolras starts but never finishes because Grantaire takes mercy on him (or maybe the exact opposite) when he opens the storage compartment where he put the extra helmet and throws it at him.  
  
"Here, put this on," he says and grins, "so we don't risk smashing your pretty head in."  
  
Enjolras goes pale in an instant and there's no doubt about the terror in his face now. Something softens in Grantaire because maybe the guy is perfect and all too righteous but he's apparently afraid of riding a little motorcycle. Who would have thought that? He relents on the sarcasm and teasing.  
  
"Come on Enj,” he says deliberately using one of the nicknames that doesn't bring Enjolras' blood to a boil, "it's only a bike, it ain't gonna hurt you. I'm an excellent driver, for real."  
  
He sends him a genuine and hopefully comforting smile and waits while Enjolras glances from the bike to the helmet to Grantaire and back to the bike again.  
  
Finally, with a deep breath Enjolras pulls the helmet down on his head. It's a snug fit and the front part presses at his cheeks in a quite adorable way while some of the blond curls have been trapped in front of his face. Grantaire lets out a soft laugh and steps forward to help Enjolras tug the helmet down so it sits just the right way. Without a thought Grantaire gently presses his fingers to the sides of Enjolras' face to tug the stray hairs away from his face.  
  
He practically jolts back when it occurs to him that he's actually touching Enjolras' face and that maybe he shouldn't be doing that. Enjolras says nothing but stares at him and Grantaire does his best at avoiding eye contact. He turns towards the bike and only because he’s Grantaire, and therefore master at putting a grin on his face when he has to, he can joke the awkwardness away. Or at least try.  
  
"So we're just gonna go home. I promise to get you there in one piece,” he says without looking back at the helmet-clad Enjolras. Well if this isn't awkward, he thinks as he hops on and turns on the motor. Then he motions to Enjolras that he's ready for him.  
  
Grantaire doesn't look back at Enjolras but he's ready when hands touch, featherlight, on his shoulders and the bike dips slightly to one side before Enjolras has settled behind him. As soon as he has, the hands are gone from his shoulders and there is no evidence for Grantaire that he has a passenger. He leaves the visor up, he almost always does when it’s not too cold, because it makes it easier to communicate with whoever is behind him. This also causes him to hear Enjolras mumble something just when he’s accelerating and driving out into the road. He’s much more gentle with the start than if he were driving by himself but nonetheless that mumble turns into a high pitched noise and hands grip his sides just to immediately let go again. He laughs into the summer air because how can Enjolras be that scared of both riding the bike and touching Grantaire at the same time?  
  
He turns his head for a moment and says, “Just keep holding on, I don’t mind.”  
  
It’s quite an understatement that he ‘doesn’t mind’, but Enjolras doesn’t need to know that does he? And Grantaire knows that it’s much more comforting to have something to hold on to. He can’t hear if Enjolras answers him because the wind and the traffic makes too much noise by now but slowly he feels the hands settle lightly on his sides again.  
  
Without thinking too much about it he turns the accelerator and the bike responds straightaway and shoots forward with a speed that might not be entirely legal. Grantaire is prepared for it and braces himself easily but Enjolras less so and his arms coil around Grantaire’s waist as if he’s trying to hold on for dear life. Perhaps he is, Grantaire thinks and he can’t help the smirk that crosses his face when he hears a rather indignant squeak from behind.  
  
He slows down again—because he’s not out to murder Enjolras by way of traffic accident—but not before he has done a few playful swerves that has Enjolras holding on tight. He keeps holding on for the remaining ten minutes of the ride even though Grantaire contains himself and keeps the speed limit like a good citizen. Maybe he didn’t really inspire trust with his moves, but it was so worth it anyway.  
  
The bike rolls slowly into their driveway and Grantaire halts it in front of the closed garage door. He puts both feet down and stands still as to tell Enjolras that he can get off. There’s no reaction, so he turns to look at Enjolras. Behind him Enjolras is still holding onto his torso, although not as tight now that they have stopped. Grantaire reaches out and pulls up Enjolras' visor. The face he sees has wide eyes and a half open mouth.  
  
“You can get off now,” Grantaire says with a little smile, “actually you should get off now, so I can get the beast in.”  
  
“A beast, rightfully,” is all Enjolras says, his voice breathy and light, before he moves to get off. Grantaire would laugh at Enjolras' apparent discomfort if it wasn’t for the fact that as he gets off, Enjolras has to steady himself on Grantaire and the grip on his shoulder is firm until it’s gone completely. The two of them never really touch each other even though in their group of friends there are never any scruples about being tactile. So maybe Grantaire wanted to have Enjolras have a reason to cling onto him, is it so wrong?  
  
“Would you mind getting the door?” Grantaire asks as Enjolras is pulling the helmet off and releasing a head full of fuzzy blond curls. Grantaire lets out a laugh. Helmets are never good for any hair styling purposes, but the effect it has on Enjolras' hair is simply ridiculous.  
  
“What?” Enjolras asks the helmet under his arm and already on his way to press the button that opens the garage door.  
  
“Oh, nothing,” Grantaire says and tries to suppress his grin. He can tell that he fails miserably by the frown Enjolras sends him.  
  
“What is it? The fact that I didn’t like it when you break the speed limit? Or riding a bike in the first place?” Enjolras asks and raises his eyebrows inquiringly.  
  
“Oh no, having you cling to me like that made my day,” Grantaire remarks with enough sarcasm to hide the truth in that statement, “it’s just your hair. It looks lovely, as always. Well not like always, but it’s really some kind of a style.”  
  
A light of comprehension flashes across Enjolras'Enjolras' face and his hands go to his hair patting at it where it stands up.    
  
“Relax, Apollo, no one’s home to see your hair like this,” Grantaire teases and Enjolras drops his hands immediately.  
  
“I don’t care about how my hair looks,” Enjolras insists. He moves to the door to do what Grantaire originally asked him to but stops in his tracks.  
  
“Wait, why is it that you’re at home? I mean when everyone else is at Jehan’s reading?” Enjolras asks.  
  
“I’m just–” Grantaire starts and stops again because… Oh shit, the commission. Grantaire takes a look at his watch and the time it shows is much too late for his liking. He’d planned on finishing the painting this evening a bit ahead of time instead of struggling with it through the night and only finishing in the last minute. If he hadn’t been disturbed by the phone call he might have been able to, but now that he has lost both time and concentration (because let’s face it the memory of Enjolras on that bike is not letting go of him) it’ll probably take him all night. Great.  
  
“You’re just what?” Enjolras asks and looks impatiently at Grantaire. Grantaire doesn’t have enough energy to deal with what Enjolras might say to the fact that he’s gonna be in the last minute with his work. He can only imagine what a field day Enjolras would have with that and how he would accuse Grantaire with being lazy or indifferent.  
  
“Never mind,” Grantaire says dismissively and strides past Enjolras to open the garage door.

* * *

Enjolras flees from the garage as soon as they get indoors. He might be fleeing from Grantaire but if he is that’s surely nobody’s business anyway. Tossing the borrowed helmet onto a table in the garage he just bolts out of there to go anywhere else.  
  
He finds himself in the kitchen in the end because nobody else is home and he doesn’t feel like going to his room yet. So he sits down in one of the stools at the counter and breathes for a moment. This is nowhere close to an ideal situation. He’s trembling slightly and wound up and the only reason could be that it’s the bike ride that did it. He really doesn’t like that kind of thing. Driving a car is statistically dangerous too, but it’s nothing to sitting on a metal thing like that and feel it dip every time it turns just the slightest. Not to mention the sensation of the motor beneath him like it really were a beast and not something that Grantaire can actually control.  
  
Rationally Enjolras can say to himself that of course Grantaire can control the bike but it sure didn’t feel like it when he was actually sitting on it. Except for the fact that Grantaire actually probably did that thing on purpose. The thing where he sped up and Enjolras felt his stomach turn and maybe let out what sounded like a shriek. It was most certainly on purpose, Enjolras figures, because Grantaire always seems to like to antagonize him in every way possible. Sometimes Enjolras thinks they’ve gotten better at not being so childishly up each others’ throat, that they’ve moved on from those nasty fights to more civilized debates that keep themselves to the limits of the actual subject up for discussion. Then Grantaire does something like this solely to rile up Enjolras’ feathers—and they both know that’s exactly his intention—and Enjolras feels like they haven’t changed a bit. He can’t figure out why that fact annoys him more than the more concrete stress over the bike ride.  
  
He doesn’t know for how long he sits there but at some point the door opens. Enjolras looks up but doesn’t say anything when he sees Grantaire walking in. Grantaire only acknowledges his presence with a little huff of air. He looks like a man on a mission and not like he wants to talk so Enjolras looks away again and busies himself with thoughts other than the ones he was just having of Grantaire.  
  
Usually Enjolras can control his thought process but lately he has found his thoughts centered around the Grantaire without any reason. Most often it’s when he can’t get that rebuttal that Grantaire made at a meeting out of his mind and other times it’s much less tangible and he just lingers on the thought of Grantaire. Enjolras can feel his mind wandering to that weird place now and figures that then it’s a better alternative to focus on the physical presence of Grantaire behind him than those thoughts. He doesn’t want to turn around though, so he just listens. By the sound of it, Grantaire is rummaging around in a cupboard for something. What he would need at this time in the evening, after he doubtlessly has eaten, is a mystery to Enjolras. Maybe a late night snack?  
  
“Aha!” Grantaire exclaims, more a sound of triumph than an actual word. Enjolras can’t help but turn around to see what Grantaire has found, that he was looking so hard for.  
  
It’s a bottle of whiskey. Of course it’s a bottle of whiskey. No, why is it that a bottle of whiskey? Why is it that every time Enjolras thinks he might have seen a good side of Grantaire, he always has to cancel it out with things like drinking on a weeknight?  
  
Grantaire must have seen some of that thought displayed on his face because he glances down at the bottle in his hand and shrugs.  
  
“Well, if I’m gonna get through the night,” Grantaire mutters and his voice has a sharp edge to it that doesn’t reflect in his body language.  
  
“I didn’t say anything,” Enjolras says, because he didn’t. It really is Grantaire’s own choice to do what he wants to, and Enjolras is not in the business of judging.  
  
“Oh no, you didn’t,” Grantaire laughs without much humor, “but you did that look and that’s plenty enough for me to get the message.”  
  
“And what message is that?” Enjolras asks even though he probably knows.  
  
“The usual one that tells me how useless I am,” Grantaire says and smiles a weird smile that doesn’t have a drop of happiness in it, “though this time you’re a little bit at fault too if I may say so.”  
  
“I am driving you to drinking you heart out?” Enjolras snorts and almost misses the way Grantaire looks away for a second.  
  
“Not exactly. And if you’ll excuse me, I have a piece to feverishly grapple with until it’s finished,” Grantaire says and with that he strides out of the kitchen without looking back.  
  
The door slams and Enjolras sits at the kitchen table a little longer. He feels a headache coming on and decides that maybe it’s best if he goes straight to bed.

* * *

The whole thing with living eight people together turns out to be a little bit trickier than everyone expected. First of all the food. The amount needed to feed a group of twenty-something men is absolutely ridiculous. Fortunately the kitchen that comes with the enormous house is near enormous itself. They have two fridges, one for beverages and personal items and one for the actual food. The former is divided into shelves where everyone has half a shelf to themselves. The shelf-sharing puzzle goes as follows:  
  
On the top shelf Combeferre’s items are lined neatly to the exact middle of the shelf with Courfeyrac’s a little less organized collection of food.  
  
The shelf under that is shared by Marius and Jehan and no one but Jehan has any idea of which is whose. Marius keeps saying that he just eats anything that Jehan doesn’t because he can’t even remember what he bought himself. If you ask Jehan what kind of system xe has, xe’ll just gape at you and say that there they don’t operate with systems.  
  
The next shelf down is Feuilly and Bahorel’s and they too have a practically non-existent system. Contrary to Marius and Jehan’s situation, none of them actually have an idea who bought what. This results both of them writing their initial on every single thing since they cannot keep up a division of the shelf like Combeferre and Courfeyrac. It’s more practical that way, they both say.  
  
Lastly there is what Courfeyrac likes to call the Shelf of Disaster™. The owners are Enjolras and Grantaire and that shelf always looks like civil war broke out and with that a minor atomic bombing happened. Enjolras' intention is very much like Combeferre’s with order and a clear distinction between the two sides but seeing as Grantaire apparently has no interest in staying on his own half and his things keep imposing everywhere on the shelf, it’s near impossible for Enjolras to keep order when he in the first place doesn’t really have time to keep something like a fridge in order. There are so many things more important than the mess Grantaire makes on their shelf.  
  
This acceptance of defeat doesn’t however keep Enjolras from sighing irritatedly every time he opens the fridge to find his food underneath a pile of Grantaire’s silly snacks. Sometimes, he swears, the right side of the shelf—the one that’s Grantaire’s—is practically clean while his own side is overflowing with both of their things. Why Grantaire is so deliberate in his mess is a mystery to Enjolras.  
  
Enjolras tolerates it for awhile but grows increasingly irritated at Grantaire until one Saturday morning it’s suddenly not tolerable anymore.  
  
“Why the hell is my shelf filled with cheese dippers?” Enjolras demands to the room at large. Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who are sitting by the table in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee each, look up with confusion in their eyes.  
  
“I wouldn’t take you for a dipper,” Courfeyrac comments and a smile is growing on his face as Enjolras shuts the fridge with unnecessary force.  
  
“I don’t eat that kind of thing,” Enjolras clarifies.  
  
“Then why do you have a shelf full of it?”  
  
Enjolras stares at Courfeyrac, whose expression would have the likeness of an innocent child’s if it wasn’t for the grin he’s sporting.  
  
“I don’t know!” Enjolras exclaims, “that’s why I asked!”  
  
He turns back to open the fridge again, this time pushing away all of the plastic containers to get to his own food.  
  
“If it’s so bad we can change it so you share a shelf with someone else,” Courfeyrac offers, “Combeferre for example. Then you won’t have to deal with the mes–“  
  
Then Courfeyrac stops but Enjolras barely notices that he hadn’t finished the sentence. He rummages the cupboards for a bowl, still not quite at home in the kitchen yet. Maybe he slams the doors a little harder than what good is but he’s getting angry.  
  
“It’s not just the mess,” Enjolras exclaims, “it’s also the way he eats nothing but children’s food and unhealthy snacks.”  
  
“Uhm… Enjolras?” Courfeyrac says and Enjolras turns around.  
  
“Yes?” he demands but Courfeyrac doesn’t say anything, he just looks at the door. Where Grantaire is standing in a t-shirt and boxers. He’s clearly just out of bed and when he catches Enjolras' eyes, he moves to lean lazily against the doorframe.  
  
“So you think I eat unhealthily?” Grantaire asks and on the surface he sounds entirely calm. But Enjolras detects something more angry in Grantaire. Maybe it’s the sardonic smile or the slight drawl to the words. It sounds almost like mockery. Perhaps Enjolras should know better than putting fuel on the fire, but he can’t help himself.  
  
“Yes, in fact that’s exactly what I think,” he replies and straightens his back. Grantaire responds by slumping even more down in his relaxed stance. Enjolras has been in enough arguments with him to see the pattern that is the two of them preparing for a fight. But those were back in days of college or just after, where they were both younger and the arguments then actually had a subject worth arguing over. It would start with Grantaire refuting one or another of Enjolras' facts or arguments and then actually backing it up with sources when tried. But this, this is about food in a shared fridge and it’s actually nothing more than ridiculous.  
  
“Says the man who lived entirely off caffeine and sugar in finals periods,” Grantaire retorts.  
  
“That’s years ago,” Enjolras says, “you can hardly criticize me for something I did in college, Grantaire.”  
  
“Oh, but you still do it when you get busy with work,” Grantaire says.  
  
“When have I ever done that?”               
  
“You did it just a few months ago,” Grantaire says with a triumphant glimmer in his eyes, “when you had to finish that report about responsibility in modern society and you didn’t have time for anything but working and all meals were substituted with an unhealthy amount of coffee and sugar until after three days, you finally stumbled out and began living again.”  
  
“Wait, how do you know all that?”  
  
“I noticed, Apollo,” Grantaire says, “you have to be blind to miss one of your tantrums.”  
  
You really don’t, Enjolras thinks, because he usually shut himself in for the whole time when he does something like that. But he doesn’t say so because his minds catches on the last word out of Grantaire’s mouth.  
  
“They’re nothing the like of tantrums!”  
  
“They sure look a lot like that kind of thing,” Grantaire says with a slight shrug that isn’t at all diffusing any tension. If anything it makes Enjolras even more angry because Grantaire so obviously doesn’t let go of his opinion but goes with dispassion instead. That’s always his way of fighting, jabbing a few words at Enjolras and then retreating again into apparent disinterest.  
  
“So what if I go a few days on nutrition that is less healthy,” Enjolras begins and continues in spite of Grantaire’s huff of laughter, “I go back to eating normally again—“  
  
“Which then consists of take out or frozen dinners. Don’t you think I’ve seen your fridge space?” Grantaire moves from the door to walk up to Enjolras and pulls the refrigerator door open to reveal Enjolras' half shelf. Underneath the crumbling mountain of cheese dippers, it’s mostly boxes of pre-made store-bought meals.  
  
“At least those constitute a meal,” Enjolras counters, because as it is now he sees nothing of Grantaire’s but those damned snacks, “it’s not like yours do that.”  
  
“Don’t act like you can know me by looking at this fucking shelf, Apollo,” Grantaire hisses.  
  
“Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing to me?” Enjolras counters because hasn’t all this been Grantaire criticizing his food habits?  
  
“No, because contrary to you I have a basic knowledge about you that doesn’t really rely on this,” Grantaire says with a gesture towards the fridge. “Also, I don’t go around judging you for it.”  
  
“I’m not judging,” Enjolras protests.  
  
“It sure does sound and look like it,” Grantaire says, “don’t you think I know your Look of Disapproval?”  
  
“I don’t have a _look of disapproval_ ,” Enjolras says because the way Grantaire says it makes it sound like it’s something very specific.  
  
“Trust me, it’s there practically every time you deign to look at me,” Grantaire laughs and starts listing, “every time I pick up a bottle, every time I show up late, every time I show up with bruises on my hands and you know I’ve been in a fight– I could keep on going if you want?”  
  
“That’s enough,” Enjolras says.  
  
“Really, it’s just enough to say that you disapprove of me. Period.”  
  
“I don’t–“ Enjolras tries but Grantaire is on a roll now and he isn’t going to stop talking.  
  
“But then again why shouldn’t you? I apparently eat nothing but silly snacks and don’t care about anything at all,” he goes on.  
  
“That’s not–”  
  
“That’s just it, you actually don’t consider there to be anymore but indifference to me,” Grantaire fires off, “you know for someone who preaches tolerance and open mindedness you not that tolerant yourself.”  
  
“There’s a difference between no tolerance and not wanting your space all invaded,” Enjolras counters.  
  
“But that’s not what it’s about, is it?” Grantaire challenges  
  
“It’s about that too,” Enjolras insists, “you always seem to find a way to fill out my space and never your your own. You think I don’t know that you’re always out to annoy me?”  
  
“I have no such illusions,” Grantaire proclaims, “but you’re missing my point.”  
  
“What point?”  
  
“That you’re this obsessed with freaking cheese dippers because you really actually think I eat nothing but that,” Grantaire spits, ”which is fucking hypocritical seeing as you have no notion of nutritious food yourself.”  
  
“But I do, just because I don’t cook it myself doesn’t mean I don’t eat actually eat it,” Enjolras says and gestures towards a tupperware on his shelf that contains a cooked meal. Ever since they moved in, a friendly soul has been cooking meals and leaving them for Enjolras. It may or may not be his primary source of proper food these days.  
  
“Just because you have someone else do the actual work for you doesn’t mean you can be all high and holy about it.” Of course Grantaire has noticed the tupperwares with food because Enjolras' shelf is apparently the one he uses the most.  
  
“What do you know of that, since the only purpose you have in this kitchen is to make a mess?” Enjolras spits.  
  
There’s a moment of dead silence where Grantaire just stares at him before he puts a hand on the still open refrigerator door. With a mocking but so cold smile he pushes it close.  
  
“You should know to close the fridge when you’re not using it, Apollo. You’re so precious with doing the right thing after all,” Grantaire remarks and then he’s out of the door.

* * *

The door slams shut behind Grantaire and for a moment only the echo of the sound hangs in the air. Enjolras can do nothing but stare at the closed door. Then Combeferre clears his throat and Enjolras directs his gaze at him. Combeferre lowers the newspaper he has otherwise been more or less invested in during the fight and looks at Enjolras with calm eyes.  
  
“You do know that Grantaire doesn’t just eat cheese dippers and the like, right?” His words are gentle enough but there’s an edge to the way he looks at Enjolras. Like he’s a child who doesn’t know better.  
  
“What do you mean? I’ve never seen him cook any food or do anything but fill my half of the shelf with junk,” Enjolras protest.  
  
“Oh Grantaire cooks alright,” Courfeyrac laughs, “you’re just here at the wrong times. You don’t exactly spend the most of your time in the kitchen.”  
  
“I have better things to do,” Enjolras says because it somehow feels like they’re ganging up on him now.  
  
“Also he’s the one who usually does the grocery shopping for all of us,” Combeferre adds.  
  
“But all the groceries are organic and—“ Enjolras starts.  
  
“—and fair trade,” Combeferre finishes and looks back at the news paper, “I’m pretty sure he has you and your opinions in mind when he chooses just those items.”  
  
“They’re not just my opinions,” Enjolras protest, “it’s the kind of subject we all care about and we work with at meetings.”  
  
“It is,” Courfeyrac adds, “and trust me when I say that Grantaire does care himself, even though he always seems to do the exact opposite, but I do think you’re a decisive factor in this.”  
  
“I can’t believe this,” Enjolras says, leaning against the kitchen counter, “I would never have imagined Grantaire to be this invested in… well, food.”  
  
“Also…” Combeferre starts, “who do you think leaves those tupperwares full of cooked dinner for you?”  
  
“Wait– what?” Enjolras asks, confused, “I thought that was you ‘Ferre?”  
  
“There’s a lot of things I would do for you,” Combeferre says an infinitely small smile on his lips, “but cooking semi-regularly for you without any good reason such as sickness, is not one of them.”  
  
Enjolras' mind spins with the information because he has found well made food on his shelf every other day almost from day one in this house. He just assumed it would be Combeferre because he’s usually the one who keeps an eye on him.  
  
“So what you’re saying is that Grantaire not only shops for all of us, he also does it in a environmentally friendly way and on top of that he has been leaving food for me all this time?”  
  
“That’s exactly what we’re saying,” Combeferre nods, “although we wouldn’t have needed to say it if you had opened your eyes a little more.”  
  
“And I just shouted at him about being good for nothing,” Enjolras says and rubs his forehead.  
  
“Actually you said that his only purpose was to make a mess,” Courfeyrac corrects. Enjolras stares at him. “Never mind.”  
  
“Please tell me it wasn’t as bad as I think it was– as I was,” Enjolras says sinking down into a chair and hiding his face n his hands.  
  
“Well, Grantaire does seem to believe that you disapprove of everything about him,” Combeferre points out.  
  
Enjolras peeks out between fingers. Does Grantaire really think Enjolras has nothing but disapproval to spare for him?  
  
He may disapprove of Grantaire doing all those things Grantaire listed, but he cannot disapprove of Grantaire. He doesn’t like it when Grantaire picks up a bottle because he knows Grantaire has a problem with drinking. It isn’t because he’s prudish enough to care what others do to themselves, but because Enjolras hates seeing Grantaire hurt himself. He doesn’t like it when Grantaire shows up late because he’s afraid that means Grantaire really doesn’t care at all. When they debate it may look to anyone else as if Grantaire truly objects every single thing Les Amis and Enjolras stand for, but Enjolras knows that it just shows that Grantaire cares. Enjolras hates it when Grantaire shows up with bruised knuckles and even worse with bruises in his face because he can’t stand the thought of Grantaire fighting. He doesn’t disapprove of him. But if Grantaire thinks so…  
  
He should go apologize for the things he said to Grantaire, Enjolras decides and stands to make his way to the door when Courfeyrac’s voice stops him.  
  
“What are you doing now?”  
  
“Apologizing,” he says, turning around. Both Combeferre and Courfeyrac look a little surprised at that.  
  
“I don’t think that’s a good idea just now,” Combeferre says with a small smile yet concern in his eyes.  
  
“Why not?” Enjolras demands because he might not be good at this inter-human relationship thing, but he thought he had just figured out the right thing to do.  
  
“As much as I applaud your ability to admit you did something wrong, I think it’s best if you let Grantaire have his space right now,” Combeferre says and Enjolras kind of understands it. Grantaire seemed quite upset he probably doesn’t want to talk to Enjolras anyway.  
  
“I’ll wait then,” Enjolras says.  
  
There’s perfect silence for awhile as Enjolras finishes making his breakfast, until it’s broken.  
  
“You do realize that you just had a major fight over cheese dippers, right?” Courfeyrac says with this incredulous smile on his face. Enjolras just glares at him.  
  
“I mean, usually your arguments center around something a little more worth while like philosophy or the effectiveness of social justice,” Courfeyrac keeps on, “but this was literally a fight about refrigerators, food habits and cheese dippers.”

* * *

“He has no idea it’s me who’s leaving him food,” Grantaire says, “but it’s not so much that, because how should he ever know when I don’t tell him? It’s just the way he said it, like there was no way in this world he would consider it to be me. He has no fucking clue, but he’s certain it could never be me. Doesn’t that just show how lowly he thinks of me? I mean, first of all he doesn’t even believe I can cook because I guess he thinks I’m to lazy or dumb or whatever. But on top of that I’m pretty sure he just doesn’t think I could ever care enough.”  
  
Grantaire finishes ranting and for a moment Joly just stands in the open door without a word.  
  
“Uhm… Hello to you too,” Joly says hesitantly and Grantaire realizes that he didn’t even say hello when Joly opened the door, he just went off to vent about Enjolras.  
  
“Sorry, I just–“ He doesn’t exactly know what to say. He’s still too much in the argument in his head to really think clear.  
  
“You want to come in?” Joly saves him from trying to voice just that.  
  
“Yeah thanks.”  
  
“So…” Joly starts as he lets Grantaire into the living room of his Bossuet’s and Musichetta’s apartment where the two others are currently half draped across the couch. “I guess this has something to do with Enjolras?”  
  
“It has everything to do with that brilliant idiot,” Grantaire sighs.  
  
“Those two descriptor’s don’t usually go together,” Bossuet points out but ducks his head with a smile when Grantaire glares at him.  
  
“Okay, I get it, Enjolras is a brilliant idiot,” he says, “but why don’t you sit down and tells us exactly what that brilliant idiot has done now?”  
  
“It’s not like we were doing anything else on this peacefully free Saturday,” Musichetta adds and it sounds like they very much had other things to do, but she smiles at Grantaire like she knows just as perfectly well as Joly and Bossuet how much Grantaire needs their company right now.  
  
“I’ll get us something,” Joly says, “tea, coffee or juice?”  
  
“Something stronger,” Grantaire just says as he sits down in the couch beside Bossuet. This earns him a slightly concerned look but Joly knows when it’s really bad and so he goes without commenting. Musichetta doesn’t keep quiet though.  
  
“You know it’s only eleven am right?” she asks  
  
“But it’s never too early to start a party,” Grantaire smiles and if it’s a hollow smile that has a hard time reaching his eyes, he doesn’t really care.  
  
By the time Joly returns with the requested alcohol and four glasses, Grantaire is recounting the fight and has reached the point where Enjolras accuses him of not caring about anything or anyone. He takes the glass with wine the moment it is offered to him and empties it in one go.  
  
Joly looks increasingly worried when Grantaire gestures for him to refill, but the insistence in Grantaire's expression must be enough to let him have another. After all he is in distress and his friends are supposed to be the ones helping him cope.    
  
"And then I kind of just said this mocking thing and stormed out of there," Grantaire finishes. All three of them are looking at him with soft eyes and then Bossuet breaks the silence that follows.  
  
"So, just to clarify, you've been cooking Enjolras food ever since you guys moved into the house?" he asks and Grantaire nods and this time hie sips his drink in favor of chugging it down like the first one. The alcohol warms his throat and substitutes the burn that is always left in him when he and Enjolras have one of the bad fights.    
  
"Yeah, he can't exactly figure out how to take care of himself, can he?" Grantaire says, "have you ever seen what that man eats if unsupervised?"  
  
"Yes, I've told time and time again that you can't really eat that unhealthy, especially not if you're spending as much energy as Enjolras does,” Joly says but apparently realizes the fact that 's not what Grantaire wants to hear right now.    
  
"But you're cooking for him?" Bossuet repeats and Grantaire nods again.  
  
"And he hasn't got a clue that it's you?” Musichetta asks. Grantaire shakes his head.    
  
"And you then proceeded to have a huge fight over cheese dippers?" Bossuet continues, and Grantaire doesn't really want to dignify that with a proper answer.  
  
"I see," Bossuet says as if it all makes sense even though Grantaire knows that it doesn't really.    
  
"Can we just... I don't know pretend that that wasn't why I came here?" Grantaire says because he doesn't want to spend more of his time than necessary thinking about Enjolras, especially when it doesn't bring him anything but grief.    
  
"Sure, what du you want to do? We could put on a movie and snuggle?" Musichetta offers and Grantaire could kiss her for being absolutely brilliant, because that is exactly what he needs he realizes.    
  
"Okay, yeah that would be very nice," Grantaire says," can it be like a really bad movie that we can laugh at and criticize?"  
  
"Yeah I stumbled across this movie on Netflix the other day and it looked positively horrible if you read the description," Joly says because he thrives on bad movies. They all do, because when you watch a bad movie alone it's just bad, but when you watch it with people you like it just makes it funny.  
  
Before long Grantaire finds himself squished comfortably between Musichetta and Bossuet on the couch under a mountain of pillows and blankets. Somehow one of them has wrestled the glass from without him noticing it, but he can’t really say he minds too much.  
  
Joly is starting up the TV and finding the movie because Bossuet's not allowed to do that after the incident of somehow breaking the computer while trying to play The Little Mermaid.    
  
 Afterwards Joly somehow ends up draped over all three of them with his head in Musichetta’s lap and as the movie starts and they are all hating it after 2 seconds Grantaire feels like everything might be alright.    
  
After the incredibly bad movie (Joly is both a master in finding awesome movies and awful movies) they go on to this zombie show that has Bossuet squealing into Grantaire's shoulder and hugging Joly's feet a little tight at the gore and has Joly thoughtfully considering the medical improbabilities of the show. Grantaire and Musichetta share a look over their heads.  
  
"All boys have their quirks, you know," Musichetta remarks with a soft smile and a pat on Joly's head. He looks up at her, muttering about neurotransmitters and drugs.  
  
"Oh and girls are perfect?" Grantaire says with a smirk.  
  
"Yes of course, have you ever even looked at me?" Musichetta laughs and the sound of her laughter ringing soft to Grantaire's ears. He has always loved the way women laugh, it's somehow just softer than a man's. Well, he knows one man who has ringing laughter like that but...  
  
"I can see you're thinking about him," Musichetta reprimands with a pointed finger, "and now is not the time for that. Now is the time watch this wonderful show that'll probably has us bawling out our eyes in an episode or two."  
  
Grantaire smiles and focuses his attention back at the screen.  
  
They do end up bawling their eyes out at the end of the third episode, but it’s all good and well when you’re with friends.

* * *

Things calm down somewhat after the fight. They don’t exactly avoid each other because Grantaire has decided that it takes up too much of his time to try and avoid Enjolras when apparently it will just end in awkward incidents and fights anyway. He supposes he can live with that if he has to. Enjolras too has changed his behavior in some way because when he looks at Grantaire now it’s different and sometimes he even tries a smile. At first it freaked Grantaire out but then he figured that it’s probably just some sort of apology tactic on Enjolras’ side. Now he just answers those smiles with a tight one himself, because really, does Enjolras just expect them to be all buddy-buddy after they said those things?  
  
This status quo of strange not-interactions and half smiles lasts for a whole two weeks until something happens to break it. It’s a quiet afternoon and most of the residents are out working when Grantaire comes out of his room to get a snack. He has been working on conceptual work on a new commission but so far he has turned out nothing but frustrated doodles that aren’t worth shit. A short break will do him well, he decides as he makes his way down the stairs.  
  
However, on the landing, where their shared bathroom and Enjolras’ room are, the door to Enjolras’ room is wide open and when Grantaire passes it, he simply has to stop. He didn’t even know Enjolras was home but here he is crouched on the floor with his back to Grantaire next to a pile of metal and plastic things. Before Grantaire has time to just quietly move along, Enjolras elicits a long whine and throws his hands in the air.  
  
“Why is this so hard?” he complains to himself and Grantaire can’t contain himself.  
  
“I don’t know have you tried looking at the manual?” he suggests in a dry tone, because he can spot the pamphlet on Enjolras’ writing desk, nowhere near the pile of things or Enjolras. Enjolras snaps around and nearly loses his balance doing it. A quick save with a hand keeps him from falling on his butt.  
  
“What are you doing here?” he demands with a little too much edge in his voice for Grantaire’s liking. It’s probably just the surprise though, because Enjolras doesn’t like surprises and he sure looks surprised. Grantaire flinches imperceptibly nonetheless at that sharp edge. Leaning against the doorframe he quickly covers it with a lazy smile.  
  
“Giving suggestions for proper assembly of furniture, apparently,” Grantaire replies because he has no other answer.  
  
“Well I tried reading it, but it made no sense at all,” Enjolras says and gestures at the his poor attempt part of the mystery piece of furniture together. It does not look promising as several bits a pointing in several random directions.  
  
“And you decided to just wing it then?” Grantaire asks. The only answer Enjolras gives is a shrug and a terribly lost look in his eyes when he looks at his handiwork. Grantaire decides to take pity on this pretty man with no practical intelligence whatsoever. He saunters into the room and picks up the instructions. Before he opens it, he jumps up to sit on the writing desk that apparently has been cleared for this occasion, because it’s usually filled to the brim with papers and books. Grantaire takes a look at the front of leaflet.  
  
“Lövbacken,” Grantaire reads from it. “A desk chair. I didn’t know you needed a new chair?”  
  
“Well, my old one was worn down to the bone and finally broke down the other day,” Enjolras says and then looks up at Grantaire with a frown. “Wait, why do you pronounce it like that?”  
  
“Hm, what?” Grantaire asks and maybe he was distracted by the mental image of Enjolras’ chair collapsing under him and didn’t exactly pay attention to what Enjolras said.  
  
“That word, it’s the name of the chair, right?” Enjolras says and Grantaire glances down at the front matter, a picture of the chair and the ridiculously swedish name of it.  
  
“Yeah, Lövbacken, that’s the name,” Grantaire says. “Those Ikea names, makes you remember that not everything is American.”  
  
“Is that really how you pronounce it?” Enjolras asks and Grantaire simply nods. “Why do you know how to pronounce swedish words?”  
  
“It’s just something I know,” Grantaire replies leafing through the manual, “not like I can speak the language though. I just took a fancy to Norse mythology once and they all have pretty strange nordic names and I picked up a bit of pronunciation here and there, I guess.”  
  
He jumps off the desk and down to Enjolras’ failed attempt at assembly and starts pulling it apart. A little better look at the manual might have done Enjolras some good, but he doesn’t say so. As he starts putting wheels in the right places this time around he glances up to see Enjolras still slightly frowning at him.  
  
“Norse mythology as in Thor? The Marvel hero?” Enjolras asks and Grantaire has to laugh. He sits back on his haunches and laughs to Enjolras apparent confusion and slight annoyance.  
  
“No, no, “ Grantaire says between laughs, “or well, kind of, perhaps.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Enjolras demands and they frown just grows on his face. Grantaire knows that he’s no comic enthusiast but he probably thinks that he at least knows as much as who Thor is.  
  
“Well, the thing is that it’s just like how Disney does it,” Grantaire start to explain, “they take an original text and warp it so much to fit their premise that it’s hardly the same text anymore.”  
  
“Like with the little mermaid not walking on knives for every step or turning into foam in the end?” Enjolras asks and understanding dawns on his face when Grantaire nods.  
  
“Pretty much like that,” he says as he finishes the five-armed wheeled foot of the chair, “and i have to tell you, the real stories are much better than any superhero version of it. Hand me the piston-thing there, would you?”  
  
Enjolras does and Grantaire flicks to the next page in the instructions to see how to put the two together.  
  
“Better how?”  
  
“First of all, they’re proper gods and not some super human demigods from outer space,” Grantaire says, “second, Thor is redheaded instead of blond. And don’t even get me started on Loki.”  
  
“That’s the villain right?” Enjolras asks because he apparently knows just enough to be wrong.  
  
“In the movies yeah, but I’d rather tell you all the wacky things about him that is actually from mythology,” Grantaire says.  
  
“Like what?” Enjolras asks and there’s a tiny smile on his face that is challenging Grantaire to give him something worth it.  
  
“Oh I don’t know, like the fact that he is not only a shapeshifter but also both genderfluid and sexfluid,” Grantaire says and grins at the slightly surprised and impressed look on Enjolras’ face. “He fathered a whole bunch of children, some of which were supernatural animals like a giant wolf and an even bigger sea serpent that reaches around the whole world. That and he gave birth to an eight-legged horse that became Odin’s own horse.”  
  
While speaking Grantaire has managed to assemble the lower part of the chair including the handles for adjusting height and tilt of the chair. Now all that remains is to actually fit the seat and the back of the chair onto it. He rises to get the two bigger pieces and figure out how they attach.  
  
“I didn’t know you were so interested in Norse mythology,” Enjolras comments behind him but his voice sounds weirdly distant.  
  
“What, Apollo, you thought I only concerned myself with classics to give you that nickname?” Grantaire asks with a smile on his face despite the fact that these parts will not come together for him.  
  
“No, I just-“ Enjolras starts and there’s a certain frustration to his voice.  
  
“I suppose I could start calling you Freyr instead,” Grantaire interrupts. “He’s supposed to be fair and beautiful and mighty as well. Though his name means master, and I’m sure you’d protest against that, but no one would need to tell you, right?”  
  
He struggles with the chair for a moment while he waits for Enjolras to say something, but he doesn’t, not really.  
  
“Oh,” Enjolras all but breathes and Grantaire turns away from the half-finished chair. Enjolras is looking at him with a strange expression. He doesn’t say anymore than that one word, just keeps staring at Grantaire in this funny way.  
  
“What?” Grantaire asks when it’s evident that Enjolras isn’t going to talk without prompting. He does, however react to Grantaire’s question. A little bit much, if you ask Grantaire, what with the fact that Enjolras actually jumps a little. He looks away as if he’s been caught redhanded doing something he’s not supposed to do.  
  
“I just… figured something out,” he replies in a low voice, stealing a quick glance at Grantaire before averting his eyes again.  
  
“Figured what out? How to put these together?” Grantaire asks, “because that would be really handy right now.”  
  
“No, it was something else entirely,” Enjolras murmurs more to himself than Grantaire, it seems. If Grantaire wasn’t sure that it’s an impossibility, he’d say that Enjolras is blushing. He squints at him but figures that if Enjolras is not going to share whatever he has ‘figured out’, then Grantaire isn’t going to be the one to nag it out of him. They are actually civil right now and Grantaire isn’t going to spoil that. He focuses his attention back on the chair.  
  
“But maybe if you do like this…” Enjolras suggests. He walks around Grantaire holding the instructions in on hand and studying them and grabs the back of the chair with the other. “It says here it has to be tipped and then it should click.”  
  
And true, when they do what the drawings and text instruct them to, they hear a loud click and they have a assembled chair. Everything goes askew at that moment too because Grantaire was leaning on the chair to fit the pieces together and so was Enjolras and now they almost crash together. Only Grantaire’s reflexes catches on in time and prevents them both from falling over by gripping tightly onto Enjolras shoulders. For a breathless moment they stand so close their noses almost touch and Grantaire can see the light reflect in Enjolras’ eyes. He sees Enjolras stand absolutely still until he shifts minutely. Grantaire lets go. Then he bolts.  

* * *

Enjolras’ brain takes a moment to catch up and in that moment Grantaire vanishes quicker than creationism is refuted. Did he seriously just _flee_ from Enjolras? They were just assembling a chair. Well maybe not just that. Enjolras may or may not not just have had some kind of epiphany about his feelings for Grantaire. Because he has feelings for Grantaire, that much is obvious to him now.  
  
He sits down, confused and a little frustrated with both Grantaire’s weird behavior and his own weird feelings, on the newly finished chair. It doesn’t break down beneath him, so they must have done something right, he notes. Figuring that taking a moment to sort out all this mess is a good idea he starts with going over what he has just learned. One of things is that Grantaire is much better than him at practical things such as putting together chairs. Another is that he apparently studies foreign mythologies just for fun and well enough to know obscure facts that put the americanized comic version to shame. The last is that these things put together with all that Enjolras has learned about Grantaire while living with him, suddenly made it crystal clear just how he feels about Grantaire. Ever since that big fight they had in the kitchen Enjolras has been aware that something changed, he just hasn’t been sure what exactly that was. He didn’t know before now that it was his feelings. Somewhere down the line, very slowly, he had gone from *hating* Grantaire to tolerating him to actually liking him and respecting him and now here he was imagining how it would be like to kiss Grantaire. They had been quite close just before Grantaire fled.  
  
But why would Grantaire run like that? Enjolras has to go up there now and talk to Grantaire about this. That’s the only reasonable thing to do. And then maybe, if he’s lucky, there will be kissing afterwards.  
  
So he climbs the stairs ready to tell Grantaire everything but he’s stopped by a voice through the door.  
  
“It’s just awful ‘Ponine,” Grantaire groans and by the sound of it flops onto his bed. Enjolras stops in his tracks and lowers the hand that was about to knock on Grantaire’s door. What is it that’s so awful, Enjolras thinks and maybe Eponine is asking the same question on the phone because there’s an answer a moment later.  
  
“Living with Enjolras is,” Grantaire says and there’s definitely a sigh following that statement. Oh. So that’s why Grantaire ran. Enjolras stares at the door as if he’ll be able to see through it and look at Grantaire if he stares hard enough. Is he really that horrible of a housemate? He knows that he’s not every persons cup of tea, but it’s not like they don’t know each other well enough and it’s not like Enjolras hasn’t been trying to be considerate of the fact that he shares his space with others now.  
  
“It’s just those little things,” Grantaire goes on and Enjolras can’t help but eavesdrop. He should know what he’s doing wrong, right?  
  
“First of all I barged in on him in our bathroom—our _shared_ bathroom, Ep, that’s just the two of us. It’s like he spends every minute of his free time there,” Grantaire says and it’s true, Enjolras does like to spend time in the bathroom because it’s relaxing. And there was that one time where someone walked in on Enjolras just out of the shower. A someone he was pretty sure was Grantaire and now he has the suspicion confirmed. It didn’t bother Enjolras much, accident as it was and mostly his own fault for not locking the door, but apparently it made Grantaire very uncomfortable.  
  
“Yeah, I know Ep, but you haven’t _seen_ him,” Grantaire almost whines and Enjolras is confused. Is he really that bad at hoarding it? What is that even supposed to mean?  
  
“And then I had to pick him up on the bike some time ago when he got himself into trouble with his parents,” Grantaire continues and Enjolras tenses. Eponine must be saying something because then Grantaire laughs.  
  
“Yeah, _ugh_ , am I right?” he says. Enjolras would give his left arm to know what exactly Eponine said because he can’t decipher what on the earth that means. Is grantaire laughing at him or expressing his disgust with him or maybe both? This is so far from what he had imagined coming up here.  
  
“I was working on that commission and got totally thrown off and didn’t work on it at all that evening,” Grantaire keeps on. Enjolras didn’t know it was interrupting to Grantaire’s work when he asked for that favor.  
  
“Not even slightly,” Grantaire says with a chuckle that is so confusing to Enjolras. Why is he laughing like that when he really just thinks Enjolras is a bother? Because he must think so if Enjolras ended up keeping him from working that night on top of having him drive out and pick him up. Just like he had that evening, he wishes that it hadn’t been Grantaire who picked up the phone.  
  
“I should probably also stop cooking food and leaving it for him,” Grantaire says now with a pensive tone to his words. This is practically self-induced torture, Enjolras thinks and he’s just about to turn around and walk away when Grantaire speaks again.  
  
“No, I guess it was just one big mistake,” Grantaire says and it’s almost as if he’s read Enjolras’ mind. This was a big mistake. Enjolras leans heavily against the wall. Of course Grantaire doesn’t want to take care of him. He doesn’t even like Enjolras, that much is evident. On top of that, it seems like every thing Enjolras does makes him feel uncomfortable and that’s the last thing Enjolras wants to do.  
  
“It’s just horrible ‘Ponine,” Grantaire says and Enjolras decides he has heard enough. He flees down the stairs and to his own room where he slams the door maybe a little to loud.

* * *

“It’s just awful ‘Ponine,” Grantaire groans and falls onto his bed. He dialed Eponine’s number the second had shut his door and she picked up on the second ring. That’s Eponine for you, she has a sense of when it’s really important to answer the phone. She doesn’t even mind when he starts a phone call with vague statements instead a decent hello.  
  
“Hello Grantaire, nice to hear from you. What? No you’re not interrupting anything important. I can talk,” she just says in a dry tone before asking, “What’s awful?”  
  
“Living with Enjolras is,” he says and heaves out a deep sigh. He might be capable of being in the same house as Enjolras without doing stupid things but sometimes he just needs to vent about all the things that make it near impossible to keep from doing said stupid things.  
  
“Let me hear all the things that makes it ‘awful to live with Enjolras’,” Eponine prompts him because she probably knows that it’s coming whether she asks for it or not. She’s the greatest therapist Grantaire could ask for.  
  
“It’s just those little things. First of all I barged in on him in our bathroom—our _shared_ bathroom, Ep, that’s just the two of us. It’s like he spends every minute of his free time there,” he says remembering very clearly the sight that met him. It’s been _months_ and that image is still ingrained in his mind, it’s like torture. He has done his best to try and forget it because it’s kind of invasive to Enjolras, but his brain never listens to him or to social acceptable norms.  
  
“That’s a very long time ago Grantaire, maybe you should try to get over at least that one.”  
  
“Yeah, I know Ep, but you haven’t _seen_ him,” he all but whines because it’s so unfair. It’s not fair that Enjolras is so good-looking and perfect and Grantaire has to endure it like this.  
  
“No, you’re completely right. I have never seen Enjolras naked and I don’t plan to,” Eponine says and Grantaire can hear the teasing smile through the phone. The point is though, that _Grantaire_ has.  
  
“And then I had to pick him up on the bike some time ago when he got himself into trouble with his parents,” he continues because maybe he should stop talking about naked Enjolras.  
  
“Enjolras clinging to your waist must have been horrible.” The sympathy in Eponine’s voice is completely fake and they both know it.  
  
“Yeah, _ugh_ , am I right?” That may not have been the smartest strategy, changing the subject. The memory of Enjolras arms around him is just as vivid as the bathroom scene.  
  
“I was working on that commission and got totally thrown off and didn’t work on it at all that evening,” he admits and thinks back to how every time he tried to concentrate on his choice of colors and finishing touches of the commission, his mind just wandered back to Enjolras and stayed there.  
  
“Couldn’t concentrate on anything else than the perfect embrace of Enjolras for the rest of the evening, huh?”  
  
“Not even slightly,” he chuckles. It’s amazing how the perfect concentration he had going on before Enjolras’ phone call could be shattered so easily and so effectively.  
  
“I should probably also stop cooking food and leaving it for him,” Grantaire muses. He should probably actually have stopped doing it after their big fight. He doesn’t even really know why he started doing it in the first place. Enjolras makes him do so many stupid things and he doesn’t even know.  
  
“You know R, you shouldn’t cater to this guy’s every wish, when he’s obviously not appreciating it,” Eponine comments and it’s probably true.  
  
“No, I guess it was just one big mistake,” Grantaire says and buries his face in his pillow. “It’s just horrible ‘Ponine, and I’m a horrible person because he doesn’t even like me and I keep butting in on him.”  
  
“You’re no such thing,” Eponine objects and it feels a little comforting to have her say that. Then he hears a door slam, a door so close it can only be Enjolras’.  
  
“Did you hear that? That was Enjolras' door slamming,” Grantaire says into the phone and sighs, “I really scared him off for good I think.”

* * *

Enjolras does a fairly efficient job of avoiding Grantaire. He tries to stay as far away as possible considering that they live in the same house and share a bathroom. He keeps the things Grantaire complained about to Eponine as a mental check list for things to avoid doing. So he keeps his distance by not hogging the bathroom and spending as little time as possible there. Maybe the fact that he now takes hurried showers and doesn’t allow himself to take his time takes a toll on his mood and patience, but it’s what he has to do. He also stops eating the food that Grantaire leaves for him in the fridge. He figures that since Grantaire really thinks it’s a nuisance, he’ll stop cooking the food if Enjolras stops eating it. For awhile that results in an ever-growing stack of tupperwares but then suddenly one day a week later they’re all gone and no new ones take their place after that.  
  
Enjolras also tries to keep the buggering of Grantaire to a minimum. If he needs help with something he goes to the other end of the house to find Combeferre, Courfeyrac or anyone else who will help him. That way Grantaire won’t have to be bothered with Enjolras whenever he’s being a bothersome housemate.  
  
“Where’s Grantaire?” Enjolras asks Joly after a Les Amis meeting three weeks into his avoidance strategy. The real meeting is done but that just means everyone has relocated and are now just spending the time talking and Grantaire is nowhere to be seen. They always have stayed around after meetings and even more so now that they actually hold the meetings at the house where most of them live.  
  
“He must have left,” Joly says after looking around and not finding Grantaire anywhere either.  
  
“Why would he leave already? I know the meeting’s officially over, but he always hangs around?” He frowns in confusion. It’s very unlike Grantaire.  
  
“He left early the last few times too,” Bossuet muses and Enjolras realizes that it’s true. Perhaps he would have remembered if he wasn’t so set on avoiding Grantaire all the time. Now he’s just trying to break his brain with why Grantaire would skip out on being social with his friends.  
  
“It’s really not like him,” Joly says, “but he’s been kind of strange lately. A bit down like something happened.”  
  
Enjolras just looks at them. He hasn’t noticed anything different about Grantaire but then again he has really been trying to just stay out of his hair. He can’t think of anything that’s different and has been for a few weeks except—  
  
But that shouldn’t get Grantaire down, it should have him sighing in relief of being free of Enjolras. He’s been avoiding Grantaire so that he wouldn’t bother him. Surely that can’t be the reason he’s bothered now?  
  
“Enjolras, did something happen?” Joly asks when Enjolras doesn’t say anything and it sounds like he can see it on Enjolras’ face that there’s something he’s not saying.  
  
“Yeah, um, the only thing I can recall ‘happening’ has something to do with me,” he says because Joly and Bossuet are Grantaire’s best friends and if they think there’s something wrong with Grantaire they’re probably right.  
  
“To do with you how?” Joly asks, confused.  
  
“I started avoiding Grantaire,” Enjolras says slowly.  
  
“What is that even supposed to mean?” Bossuet says. He’s frowning lightly as if trying to decipher a code.  
  
“I realized that he was never going to reciprocate my feelings and that he actually thinks I’m annoying and bothersome, so I figured it would all be better if I just avoided him altogether,” Enjolras admits with a sigh.  
  
“He wouldn’t– you did what?”  
  
“I overheard Grantaire telling Eponine over the phone how horrible it is living with me,” Enjolras explains.  
  
“I can’t even believe this,” Joly mutters to himself and doesn’t offer Enjolras any of the information that it seems he has.  
  
“Hey Eponine! Did Grantaire call you like three weeks ago to rant about Enjolras?” Bossuet shouts across the room to where Eponine is sprawled in a chair. She doesn’t even look up from her phone when she answers.  
  
“Yeah, he went on for hours about how terribly divine that hot piece of ass is,” Eponine answers shouting as well and then looks up, “Oh hey there, Enjolras!”  
  
Enjolras frowns. That’s definitely not what he heard.  
  
“But he kept complaining about me,” Enjolras points out in a raised voice instead of shouting like Bossuet and Eponine. Everyone else has stopped their conversations now anyway because it’s apparently very interesting to hear about Enjolras struggles.  
  
“No,” Eponine says slowly as if explaining to a little child, “he kept complaining about how hard it is to live door to door with the hot guy with whom you are in love.”  
  
“Wait– what? In love..?” Enjolras repeats and turns back to Joly and Bossuet. He looks at them for an answer but they shrug apologetically.  
  
“This is really more Grantaire’s thing to tell you,” Joly says, frowning at Eponine, “not Eponine or us.” Does this mean that there really is something for Grantaire to tell him? It doesn’t matter much, Enjolras supposes. He can’t possibly go up to Grantaire and just ask him about his feelings. Not after he’s done such a good job of keeping a distance.  
  
“Wait, if you figured out you liked him, what kind of strategy is avoiding him altogether?” Bossuet asks, interrupting Enjolras’ train of thought.  
  
“I thought he hated me,” Enjolras says, “or at least thought I was a bother.” Joly looks at him like he’s considering the whole situation and weighing things in his mind. No one says anything for a few moments.  
  
“Well, I think it’s maybe in the best interest of everyone involved if we let you know that Grantaire does in fact not hate you,” he says finally shaking his head with a small smile, “and that there would be sense in it for you to do something about this.”  
  
“Like what?” Enjolras is at a loss for ideas. He has never been god at this kind of thing.  
  
“Like something nice,” Bossuet contributes “something to show him that you care.”  
  
“You know, his birthday’s coming up soon,” Bahorel comments from another table, “you could get him a gift.”  
  
“Oh my god, Grantaire’s birthday!” Courfeyrac suddenly squeals and everyone turn their heads to him. “We have to throw a party!”  
  
“Courf, I’m not gonna throw Grantaire a party,” Enjolras says. The mere thought of it is absurd.  
  
“No, we all will. Or well, maybe I will,” Courfeyrac says, eyes already lighting up with ideas, “it’s really about time that we held a party in this house. Would you think, this house has never seen an Amis party. No, we all throw a party and you just make sure that you find a very good gift for Grantaire and like be nice to him. No more of that avoidance-stuff alright?”  
  
Enjolras can do nothing but nod silently and start thinking very hard about what in the world he could get Grantaire.

* * *

Trust Courfeyrac to throw a party worth remembering. The day before he has the whole house on end and everybody on different party duties. Everyone except Grantaire that is. He feels rather useless as he’s sitting in the lounge and doodling absentmindedly while there are sounds coming from the other side of the closed door that leads to the living room. When he walked in there earlier it was to find Enjolras and Marius each balancing on a chair struggling to hang up a banner with the critical eye of Combeferre as help. In one of the couches Feuilly was sitting and cutting shapes out of colored paper that Jehan then decorated with various pens and markers. Courfeyrac coming into the room from another door of course spotted Grantaire immediately and shooed him out despite Grantaire’s protests.  
  
“It’s not even a surprise party so why aren’t I allowed to see?” Grantaire had asked but Courfeyrac just shook his head at him at pushed him out into the lounge.  
  
“I want to keep at least a bit of the mystery alive,” Courfeyrac answers, “don’t kill the mystery, Grantaire!”  
  
With that the door closes and Grantaire doesn’t dare open it again. When Party Planner Courfeyrac acquires control over Normal Courfeyrac’s body it’s wisest to stand back and let the magic happen. And he really does throw great parties.  
  
And so Grantaire finds himself with nothing to do. He knows for a fact that Bahorel is in the kitchen working some magic with a birthday cake or something with the help of Cosette so he’s not even considering going out there either. He doesn’t exactly know what the rest of his friends are doing, but knowing Courfeyrac, everyone is busy with party errands.  
  
Grantaire’s about to give up and retreat to his room when there’s a crash in the living room. Then he hears Marius’s nervous voice spew out apologies and others concerned ones. Then Enjolras' clear voice cuts through the rest of the noise because it always has that capability.  
  
“I’m alright, Marius. It’s nothing, it doesn’t even hurt.”  
  
Enjolras must have fallen down from that chair he was balancing on.  
  
“But maybe it would be easier if you and Courfeyrac did it, it seems he has more of an idea of how it’s supposed to be than I do,” Enjolras' voice sounds again and Grantaire hears footsteps before the door he’s looking at opens.  
  
It’s Enjolras coming out of the door, no surprise, but Grantaire starts a little anyway because instead of striding out of the room Enjolras actually acknowledges him with a small nod. That shouldn’t actually be startling to Grantaire considering that they live in the same house but…  
  
Enjolras has been avoiding him for more than a month now, that much is obvious. At first it wasn’t that clear because it’s not like they were talking much to start with and they have been dancing around each other in different patterns ever since moving in, so the fact that Enjolras barely ever said a word to him was not that alarming to Grantaire. Then he started using the bathroom less and the only reason Grantaire knows this is because where he earlier might not have run into Enjolras more that one time, but he has been met with a bathroom left full of steamy air enough times to know that Enjolras apparently likes to spend time there. The last few weeks the bathroom has never been steamy.  
  
There are other things such as the fact that Enjolras seems to slip out of every room Grantaire enters or that he asks everyone else but Grantaire for help but the worst thing is probably the food. Enjolras must finally have found out just who made him that food and figured that he would not want to eat anything Grantaire made. What else could it mean when he just stopped taking the containers? For awhile Grantaire convinced himself that there was no meaning to it and continued leaving food for Enjolras but when the tower of tupperwares became as tall as the space between the shelves he stopped. He tried to readjust to cooking for one but the first few times he had to throw perfectly good meals out.  
  
Enjolras has been avoiding Grantaire and Grantaire in return stops arguing with him at meetings and leaves as soon as the meetings over. If Enjolras doesn’t want to see or speak to Grantaire, he certainly doesn’t have to.  
  
Right now Enjolras isn’t avoiding Grantaire and Grantaire is willing to take it even if it isn’t much.  
  
“Giving up on leadership, huh?” he remarks with a nod in direction of the party prepping, “not really your usual way of doing things.”  
  
“If it’s about parties, I don’t even go near leading anything,” Enjolras says with a gesture of defeat but a slight smile. He stands like that for a moment where neither of them do anything but look at each other. Grantaire would have to use more fingers than he has to count the days since they last spoke this many words to each other.  
  
“Mind if I sit?” Enjolras asks with a glance at the furniture.  
  
“Be my guest.” Grantaire shrugs. He doesn’t exactly know what to do with this. With the fact that Enjolras is standing there twisting his hands in a way that almost seems nervous. With the fact that he’s speaking to Grantaire. So he doesn’t do anything with it. He just shrugs.  
  
Enjolras sits down on the same couch as Grantaire even though he might have chosen the other or the two chairs. He doesn’t lean in to take a peek in Grantaire’s sketchbook like someone else might have, probably because he has an idea of decency and privacy. They don’t say anything for a while and Grantaire goes back to sketching with no mind on it. He glances up when he catches movement out the corner of his eyes and sees Enjolras rub his elbow with a grimace.  
  
“It doesn’t even hurt,” Grantaire mocks Enjolras' earlier statement. The hand drops from the elbow immediately to lie purposeless in his lap.  
  
“Not the slightest,” Enjolras replies as if he doesn’t know what Grantaire means with that remark. Grantaire just grins at him, because it’s typical Enjolras not to want to show any sign of weakness. They sit in silence again because neither of them apparently know what to say.  
  
“Courfeyrac’s really going all in on this isn’t he?” Grantaire tries at last.  
  
“Yeah he is,” Enjolras admits with a little laugh. Grantaire just raises an eyebrow. Enjolras meets his gaze with an amused smile.  
  
“I’m not supposed to tell you this, because it’s supposed to be a surprise, but Courf–“  
  
“Oh my god, did he get me a stripper?” Grantaire exclaims with feigned excitement.  
  
“What? No!” Enjolras says and the immediate expression is priceless and worth the following glare.  
  
“Come on, Apollo, I was kidding,” Grantaire laughs and maybe he’s a little surprised at how much he’s been missing something as trivial as getting a rise out of Enjolras. “Even though you shouldn’t judge anyone on their profession like that.”  
  
“You know perfectly well that it’s not a matter of prejudice,” Enjolras says, leaning in and getting that righteous look in his eyes, “but rather that the circumstances surrounding all kinds of sex workers that–“  
  
“Shush, Enjolras, I didn’t mean to push the rant-button on you,” Grantaire interrupts. Surprisingly it works because a light flickers in Enjolras’ eyes and he sighs as if to calm himself.  
  
“No, I suppose you didn’t,” Enjolras says and leans back into the couch. He doesn’t say anymore than that even though Grantaire fully expects him to.  
  
They sit in what can possibly be described as companionable silence and Grantaire returns his focus to the sketchbook. Enjolras doesn’t say or do anything but he doesn’t stand up and leave either. It’s kind of weird but also kind of nice to just sit, Grantaire thinks and the silence is only broken when Courfeyrac sticks his head out from the living room and calls Enjolras back in. Enjolras excuses himself and Grantaire actually thinks he sees a smile directed at him when he stands. It’s definitely weird.

* * *

The party is fun, it really is, it’s just that Enjolras can’t really appreciate it as much as he would like to. He’s much too on edge for that. He’s hiding out on a couch in the corner of the living room and has been for quite some time now.  
  
 The wrapped present that i lying next to him has something to do with that nervousness. He’s twisting his hands when Courfeyrac stumbles by with a drink in hand and a silly hat on his head.  
  
“Those are not for sitting in!” He exclaims and points at Enjolras with a accusatory expression.  
  
“What do you mean? That’s exactly what they’re for,” Enjolras protests because he’s not going to do what Courfeyrac probably wants him to; dance. He doesn’t do dancing. Courfeyrac knows that, but always disregards it anyway.  
  
“Yeah in the day time, they are,” Courfeyrac says and flops down beside Enjolras as if that doesn’t contradict what he was just saying. Courfeyrac has apparently, and not surprisingly, taken advantage of the wide array of drinks and alcoholic beverages that were acquired for the party.  
  
“So they’re pieces of furniture at day time and avengers of justice at night time?” Enjolras scoffs.  
  
“You’re funny sometimes, you know that right? You try and fool everyone into thinking you’re stiff all the way through,” Courfeyrac says, poking him in the chest. Enjolras fully expects him to start on a lecture on how he should loosen up, but instead Courfeyrac continues his couch theory.  
  
“You see, these magnificent things,” he says patting the back of the couch, “are well enough for sitting in day time. But it’s not day time now, it’s…”  
  
Courfeyrac looks expectantly at Enjolras so he makes a guess at what Courfeyrac is hinting at.  
  
“Night time?” He has seen that video that Courfeyrac, amongst others, is so fond of with the night time/day time bird, but he fails to see what that might have to do with couches.  
  
“No, silly!” Courfeyrac laughs. “It’s Party time!”  
  
Of course. Enjolras should have been able to guess that one. Courfeyrac doesn’t seem to care, just continues explaining.  
  
“And there are only two things that couches are allowed for at a party. The first one is sleep, but that’s only if you’re really drunk or it’s really late. It’s not that late and you’re not drunk, so that one is ruled out.”  
  
“And what, pray tell me, is the other thing allowed?”  
  
“Making out,” Courfeyrac says with a wide grin. “Preferably horizontally.” Enjolras grimaces.  
  
“Ooh, is that a present I spy with my little eye?” Courfeyrac exclaims and leans across Enjolras to get a better look.  
  
“It is,” Enjolras confirms. He figures that if he gives it as little attention as possible Courfeyrac’s drunken attention span will make him flutter like a butterfly away from it again. No such luck, as Courfeyrac frowns at the package as if it holds great mysteries no one cared to tell him about.  
  
“Didn’t we all give our presents a long time ago? Like right at the start of the evening?” he asks.  
  
“Yeah, but then the gift from Eponine got everyone all worked up and no one noticed that I didn’t get to give mine.” Enjolras knows that it’s a thin excuse. It wouldn’t have been that difficult to get Grantaire’s attention for long enough to hand him a present. Enjolras has never had a problem with getting the attention in a room, but it feels much different when it’s about himself and not an important cause.  
  
“I bet Grantaire noticed,” Courfeyrac remarks.  
  
“Actually, he didn’t even look at me.” And Enjolras knows because he spent the whole gift exchange looking at Grantaire and gathering courage. Pointing to the package, Courfeyrac leans in and bumps his shoulder against Enjolras’.  
  
“So now you’re just sitting here with an ungifted present. What good is that gonna do?” he asks. His tone is equal parts teasing and caring. Enjolras is not sure what to do with that. He loves that his friends are supportive, but right now he’s as taut as a bowstring and even Courfeyrac’s affectionate aren’t curing that.  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“You know, you should probably go find Grantaire and give it to him. You don’t want him to think that you didn’t get him anything at all,” Courfeyrac suggests, giving Enjolras a knowing look.  
  
“I doubt he even expects me to,” Enjolras    
  
“Yeah and whose fault is that, with all the avoidance you’ve been doing?”  
  
Enjolras doesn’t say anything.  
  
“Exactly. Now get your ass off of here since you’re not sleeping and I’m not drunk enough to mack on you.” He makes a disgusted face and hauls himself up from the sofa. Grabbing both Enjolras and the present Courfeyrac pulls him up as well and pushes the present into his arms.  
  
“Go find him. Now. I think he’s at the drinks table,” Courfeyrac orders and shoves lightly at him before jumping off in the opposite direction. Enjolras figures that he might as well do what Courfeyrac said. The whole point with this gift was to give it to Grantaire after all.  
  
Grantaire, as it turns out is not at the drinks table. He’s not in the living room at all, Enjolras quickly realizes. That is the space that was intended for the party but of course people are allowed to go somewhere else in the house. After all they all live here. So Enjolras goes scouring the house to find Grantaire before he loses his courage.

* * *

Grantaire has been spending the last twenty minutes out on the terrace in the cool evening air because despite being the person of the night he’s feeling strangely empty. He tries to tell himself that it has nothing to do with the fact that Enjolras hasn’t even said a word to him tonight, let alone given him a birthday present. It’s foolish for him to expect anything like that because Enjolras has literally been avoiding him for a month. They did talk yesterday and it actually went alright with no yelling or fighting at all, but apparently that was just some sort of anomaly and Enjolras is back to not speaking to Grantaire.  
  
Grantaire can live with that, he supposes, it just feels weird. Before this whole living in the same house thing they didn’t interact much out of discussions at meetings but Grantaire likes to think that they at that point had some that could loosely be defined as a friendship. What they have now is nothing, but in the middle there, for a few precious moments it had seemed to Grantaire that they maybe could be actual friends, civil to each other and all. Then he went and screwed it all up, probably by being too heart-eyed or something. Grantaire doesn’t even know what did it.  
  
He has about given up on getting his head around all of this when he goes inside again and promptly bumps into none other than Enjolras himself.  
  
“Oh Grantaire, I was just looking for you,” Enjolras blurts outs when he sees it’s him.  
  
“You were?” Grantaire raises an eyebrow. Is this an anomaly too?  
  
“Yeah, I, uh, meant to give you this,” Enjolras says and holds out a wrapped package. “Happy birthday, Grantaire.”  
  
Grantaire stares at Enjolras and then he takes the gift. Looking around he finds a conveniently placed couch just behind him and moves to sit down. Enjolras, miraculously follows and sits down next to him. When Grantaire looks up at him again he’s wearing an expression that could be both excitement and nervousness or maybe both. Grantaire wants to tell him to relax, that it’s just a birthday present, but truth be told it isn’t just that for him and it doesn’t look like it is to Enjolras. How come the two of them can never just be normal and boring about things? It’s always got to be on edge both when it’s bad and when it’s good. He pushes that away and focuses back at the gift when he starts opening it with careful hands. He goes for loosening the pieces of tape instead of just tearing at the paper.  
  
“Wrapped it yourself?” Grantaire asks just because he doesn’t know what else to say.  
  
“No, they did that at the store,” Enjolras replies and fidgets uncomfortably where he’s sitting. Grantaire isn’t very surprised, because it’s done way to neatly to have been Enjolras’ work.  
  
“Oh, so it’s not homemade,” Grantaire grins, “though I suppose that it might be for the best.”    
  
Enjolras starts saying something in response but Grantaire doesn’t catch it because the last last of the wrapping paper falls away and reveals the gift.  
  
There, in his hands, is a package with a pair of fairly expensive and definitely high quality headphones. He knows that Enjolras doesn’t lack money but still—it’s way too expensive of a gift for someone you happen to share a house with.  
  
“I noticed you like listening to music when you paint so-” Enjolras starts saying.  
  
“How do you know that? I always use headphones,” Grantaire asks and narrows his eyes in suspicion.  
  
“Yeah but you kinda always sing along, loudly,” Enjolras replies and Grantaire feels his ears and cheeks going warm.  
  
“I never realized,” he says and looks down shyly, “I’ll try and keep it down with these. That’s the whole idea in headphones right? So I don’t disturb anyone.”  
  
“No, but it isn’t disturbing, it’s just- I wanted you to have some quality headphones to really hear the music. I read somewhere that the connection between auditive and visual experience and expression is really strong and-“  
  
“Just shut up, Apollo,” Grantaire interrupts but his voice is soft, because he can’t believe that Enjolras noticed his preferences for listening to music and doesn’t find it disturbing that he sings—loudly. Enjolras stops talking but he doesn’t stop looking at Grantaire in this funny way and Grantaire can’t keep looking at him. So he busies himself with looking at the gorgeous pair of headphones that is now his. They’re green with black details and the puff things to go over the ear are made of the softest thing he has ever felt. The cable has a remote thing that will probably work with his iPod and is long enough for it to be practical.  
  
“It’s a very nice gift…” Grantaire mutters slowly. He doesn’t take his eyes off it.  
  
“I wanted to give you something nice,” Enjolras says.  
  
“You shouldn’t have,” he insists in spite of the way his stomach flips. Or maybe because of it. It’s too much. Not just that these must have cost Enjolras a fortune, but also that he actual took the time to find such a nice and considerate gift. That he paid attention to Grantaire. Grantaire hadn’t even really expected Enjolras to get him anything, let alone something this expensive. He had wanted it, yes, but never in a million years expected it. But now he’s sitting here with a gift that’s too god for him and Enjolras who’s looking at him funnily. He’s not sure what it means. What it means that Enjolras is actually speaking to him again and that he’s noticing Grantaire’s habits but not because they annoy him. He doesn’t know what it means that Enjolras had looked almost positively anxious when handing him the present and is now gauging Grantaire’s reaction with attentive eyes.  
  
Why would Enjolras give this to him? This is so far from a housemate gift, especially a housemate who you don’t actually talk to. Hell, it’s not even close to a gift to an actual friend. And Grantaire’s pretty sure that they don’t fit the definition of friends, at least not as of late. The only kind of person Grantaire can think  of on whom you would spend this amount money and thought is someone…  
  
“Look, Grantaire, there’s something I need to tell you,” Enjolras starts. Grantaire snaps his head up to stare at Enjolras who’s both smiling and looking as if he might fall apart any moment now. No. This isn’t what he thinks, because what he thinks it absurd. It’s not happening to him, not in this world. Maybe there is some other crazy dimension where Enjolras might be into him but it sure as hell isn’t this one.  
  
Grantaire knows he should probably stay to hear what it is Enjolras wants to tell him, but he just can’t. Jumping from the couch he realizes that he has no reason, no excuse to flee, other than maybe the panic he feels rising, so he gives none.  
  
“I have to go–“ he splutters and runs for it. He only stops running when he’s up in his room with the door shut. Lying down on his bed he fumbles for his iPod and connects the headphones to it before putting them on and pressing play. They’re just as good as they look and he’s melting down into the mattress in less than three seconds, closing his eyes. He fully intends to go back to the party, this is only a little test drive, but somewhere along the line he falls asleep to the sound of the music in Enjolras’ gift.

* * *

Enjolras wouldn’t exactly call the birthday present thing a success. Well for one, it had Grantaire running from him and he did look a little panicked. Though in Enjolras’ mind those two things just showed that Grantaire had actually gotten the message, so a total failure it had not been either. He had tried to follow Grantaire but had lost him and couldn’t find him anywhere at the party. In the end Enjolras had figured that if Grantaire didn’t want to speak with him right now, he should respect that.  
  
Here’s the deal: Enjolras doesn’t expect Grantaire just fall into his arms like some fair maiden from a fairytale. He’s not surprised when Grantaire doesn’t react further. After all, Enjolras has been kind of a jerk in so many ways even if if it weren’t intentional. So the way to go, he figures, is to make it up to Grantaire in some way and make it clear that he cares.  
  
Thinking back to the phone call between Grantaire and Eponine Enjolras overheard and misunderstood horribly, he gets ideas for how he should proceed. He starts taking long showers and baths again and when he steps out to a mirror that’s all fogged up he writes short messages for Grantaire to find when he in turn steps out of the shower. Just something nice that he would probably say to Grantaire’s face if he dared to. At first they’re just wiped away when he sees the mirror again, but Enjolras doesn’t give in and keeps leaving them and then finally one day there’s a smiley attached to his words that he for certain didn’t make. It evolves from there until it’s Grantaire actually responding to what Enjolras writes, more often than not in surprisingly detailed drawings considering they’re done on a foggy mirror. It’s some kind of communication between them, albeit a strange kind.  
  
Enjolras takes a somewhat similar approach on the food situation when he leaves a post-it note on Grantaire’s half of their shelf in the fridge.  
  
           _Miss your delicious food ;)_  
 _make me some?_  
  
He prays to every god conceivable (despite the fact that he’s not religious) that he’s not crossing any lines with this. He had scrapped a fair amount of notes in the attempt of making it sound anything but entitled or demanding. He wouldn’t ask for Grantaire’s cooking it if he didn’t think Grantaire only stopped doing it because he was a jerk and just stopped accepting it.  
  
It turns out to work because a few days later the note is gone and in it’s place, and not on Enjolras’ half, there’s a container with its own note stuck to it.  
  
          _For Enjolras_  
  
None of the others had notes attached to them so it feels like some kind of progress. Enjolras smiles when he takes the food and keeps the note in his pocket. When he’s done eating he leaves another one thanking Grantaire for the food. This develops pretty much like the mirror messages in the sense that they manage to keep up something similar to a conversation with tiny short notes to each other.  
  
They still don’t really talk to each other and Enjolras knows that this is getting more and more ridiculous by the minute. He should just actually confess his feelings to Grantaire and get it over with. He’s sitting at his desk one day and contemplating the problem, trying to come up with some kind of plan, when someone passes his half open door. They’re gone before he has time to register it properly, but it must be Grantaire. After all he’s the only one who would come from there, seeing as the staircase only leads to his room. Enjolras didn’t really have time to notice much, but it looked like Grantaire was wearing warm clothes. It makes sense Enjolras thinks when he remembers that Grantaire usually takes a leisure ride on his motorcycle around this time. That must be where he’s going now. Enjolras stares at the empty doorway for a second before he jumps out of the chair and makes his way down to the garage.    
  
Enjolras sees Grantaire stop in his tracks and frown slightly when he enters the room.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Grantaire asks and Enjolras is relieved to hear more confusion than displeasure in his tone.  
  
“You’re going out on a ride on your motorcycle,” Enjolras says more of a statement than anything else.  
  
“Yeah, I do that like once a week,” Grantaire replies with a careful expression, “sort of clears the head and stuff.”  Raising his eyebrows, he seems to silently repeat the question of what Enjolras is doing here.  
  
“I wondered if maybe I could come with you?”  
  
“You want to– I thought you were scared of riding a bike?” Grantaire says and somehow he manages to avoid making it sound condescending. Enjolras probably wouldn’t have been able to do that if it were him. But that’s Grantaire for you, who’s kind and gentle even when he’s faced with a socially inept person like Enjolras.  
  
“I trust you,” Enjolras says.  
  
“With a bike?”  
  
“Yes,” Enjolras says and takes a step closer to Grantaire, “but I trust you in many other ways.”  
  
“Such as…” Grantaire leans back against a counter his body relaxed but there’s a light in his eyes and the smallest hint of a smirk on his lips.  
  
“I trust you to peel my arguments from each other and make sure that not a single source is cited wrong. I trust you to care about your friends. I trust you to be there at every meeting and rally even though you insist on not believing in any of it. I trust you to do the things you actually care about with passion. I trust you to…” Enjolras’ voice falters. He’s has been stepping closer and closer to Grantaire while speaking and now he has run out of words and also space between them. If Enjolras reaches out, he’ll be able to touch Grantaire, pull him in by the jacket or maybe push him back against the counter. He doesn’t.  
  
“… Cook you dinner,” Grantaire suggests and the smile grows bigger.  
  
“That too,” Enjolras laughs. It feels like his heart is going a thousand miles an hour.  
  
“So we established that you trust me,” Grantaire says and Enjolras hears the teasing in his voice, “anything else you want to tell me?”  
  
“You’re really gonna make me say it out loud?” Enjolras asks and feels his cheeks flood with warmth like he’s some kind of hormonal teenager.  
  
“You know me Enjolras, I can’t believe if I don’t hear you say it,” Grantaire says and behind the teasing smile there’s a truth to the words that Enjolras knows but doesn’t really like.  
  
“I like you Grantaire,” he says, “as in I have feelings for you. Romantic ones.” Enjolras stops talking before he starts rambling and gets himself into a mess. Instead he looks at Grantaire for a reaction. Grantaire has to have known what Enjolras was going to say but when he does, it looks like Grantaire exhales all of the air in his body. Then a smile unfurls on his face, one of those that are really too wide for the face.  
  
“I like you too, Enjolras, you have no idea how much.” Enjolras thinks he might, but he doesn’t fell like bringing up how Eponine blurted out the fact that Grantaire is in love with and have been so for a long time. He can settle for ‘liking’ for now and maybe…  
  
“Can I kiss you?” Enjolras asks.  
  
“Yeah, you can definitely do that,” Grantaire chuckles and that’s all it takes. Enjolras places his hands gently on either side of Grantaire’s face and leans in to press their lips together. Grantaire’s hands settle on his hips as if they were made for just that and Enjolras feels himself simply melting into the kiss. When he pulls away he does only so much so their foreheads are still resting against each other and he can feel Grantaire’s breath still. He can’t stop grinning and it looks as though Grantaire can’t either.  
  
“When did you…” Grantaire breathes and doesn’t finish the question, but Enjolras knows what he’s asking anyway.  
  
“I realized it when you helped me with the chair,” he replies, leaning back a bit and moving his arms to fit around Grantaire’s neck. He sees Grantaire take it in, do the math and then frown in confusion.  
  
“Then why did you spend the next month avoiding me like that? Why didn’t you say something?” Grantaire asks, gripping a little tighter on Enjolras’ hips, but he doesn’t sound angry. Maybe a little disappointed but Enjolras is a little disappointed with what he did too.  
  
“I meant to talk to you but then I, um, overheard your conversation with Eponine on the phone.”  
  
“Oh my god, the one where I did nothing but complain about how horribly fantastic you are,” Grantaire exclaims and Enjolras’ stomach flutters hearing that. “Wait, why would that discourage you?”  
  
“From what I could hear it was just you complaining at how horrible I was,” Enjolras replies and tugs lightly on one of Grantaire’s curls. “That doesn’t really justify the way I acted afterwards, though. I mean it was pretty stupid move to make.”  
  
“It’s okay, Enjolras,” Grantaire tells him in a firm tone, “it wasn’t exactly fun, but as far as I’m concerned you’re than making up for it now.”  
  
“And how am I doing that?” Enjolras asks.  
  
“Standing in my arms, looking pretty, that’s good enough for me,” Grantaire replies, seeming completely content.  
  
“I can do better than that,” Enjolras says with a smile. He leans in again and kisses Grantaire because ever since the possibility occurred to him he has wanted to do it and now he’s not gonna waste the opportunity.  
  
This time when they kiss it turns into more of a series of slow kisses, lips moving in time with their breathing and hands pulling them closer to each other.  
  
“You know, you should change into some warmer clothes if you want to ride with me,” Grantaire mumbles between kisses.  
  
“I should?” Enjolras asks, not exactly aware of what the original intention of coming here was. He blames Grantaire for distracting him with the way he rolls Enjolras’ lower lip between his teeth.  
  
“Or…” Grantaire says and Enjolras feels the arms around his waist tighten and the lips against his smirk. “We could forego that whole thing and move this to a room instead.” This might be the best idea Enjolras has ever heard.  
  
“Mine’s closer,” Enjolras says and Grantaire laughs against him.  
  
“Yours it is then.”


End file.
